The Heir to the Seat of Sundered Kings
by Sdhfs
Summary: Following his victory over the world eater Alduin, the Dovahkiin turn's his prodigal power towards the looming Aldmeri threat. Knowing the world after long period's of unity tends to divide, the Dragonborn moves to reforge the shattered pieces.
1. Chapter 1

The world within Mundus, after long periods of division tends to unite, after a long period of unity, tends to divide. This has been so since the first creation of Nirn. When the rule of the Ayleid's weakened, man sprung up in rebellion that engulfed all of Tamriel, aided by the inspiration of the 'slave queen' Alessia.

Finally mer and man warred with one another until Skyrim joined with men, combining to make an unstoppable force that finally destroyed the Ayleid Empire, leading to a unified kingdom of man. But when the Alessian Empire had fulfilled its final destiny it was also lost, leading to more wars and great battles that where fought across Tamriel until again another achieved mastery.

The armies of Reman I of Cyrodiil and the converted allies of the Nibenay Valley army then finally destroyed the Tsaesci of Akavir at Pale Pass of Skyrim, leading to the birth of a second empire of man. The rise of the fortunes of the second empire of man began truly when Talos the supreme emperor and 'god-king' of the nine divines destroyed the allied Nord and Breton armies at Sancre Tor.

The battles of the first true emperor known in Cyrodiilic as Tiber Septim only ended when little is not under the banner of the new empire, using the great 'Numidium' he manages to conquer both mer and man so that no great force of Tamriel is left to resist him.

The magnificent heritage of the Septim's was present through the whole of the new third era of the empire's ascendancy, with only fleeting wars and conflicts annoying the great line of succession until the war of the Red Diamond. But then Cephorus became emperor after settling the civil war, which would be the beginning of a new Septim dynasty that would rule until the Avatar of Akatosh, Martin Septim would perish leaving the great dynasty gone.

Without an emperor sitting on the throne the empire was doomed to weakness, as usurper's and kings warred and wrangled to either seal imperial rule or secede from it, it soon became that the province's of eastern Tamriel would fall to a revitalised Argonian rebellion, while the Aldmeri from the isles of summerset would rise up to the challenge the empire for mastery.

Finally the empire would find it's back broken as it fought within a great war between its few remaining provinces and the Aldmeri dominion, lasting many years the war would finally end with the empire on its knees. The signing of the white-gold concordat would allow the Thalmor free reign to find and purge all Talos worship from the held lands of the empire, along with the expulsion of Hammerfell from the empire and the dissolution of the once mighty organisation the blades.

This story starts at the concluding stages of the civil war wrought from the peace treaty between the empire and the dominion, and will highlight the actions of the Dragonborn and the part he plays in the settling of the conflict.

It will settle how the slayer of Alduin set his sights on the mortal matters of the Tamrelic plains, and how he would go on to alter the history of those same lands.


	2. Heir to the Seat of Sundered Kings

**Author's Note:**This story will be starting off at the end of Skyrim's main political questline, with the main quest being already resolved. The reason why i started it at that stage was that i didn't feel the need to include potentially dozens of chapter's on a storyline that we've all played through, rather the aim of this story will be to provide a short backdrop as to what happened at the end of Skyrim, then rolling into a larger story that will hopefully grow to encompass the entire political charged landscape of Tamriel.

Because i'm planning on it to be so broad i'll be switching between descriptive styles, meaning that at times chapter's will be based upon a much narrower, character driven basis, while other times being based on a large, more encompassing style that will perhaps skew over the same interaction's and battle detail's, but elaborate on how the entire world is changing, rather than just my central characters.

The switching could also be from chapter to chapter, then to part to part depending, it will at times probadly get messy so if you like your's standard, i'd stay away!

This is my first attempt at writing something that encompasses something as vague and magical as...magicka so bear with me.

* * *

><p>The night was dark save for the faint glow of fires that burnt in the husk of a far northern keep, a place both non-existent and very much real in the minds of Skyrim's native people. The flames that were coaxed in piles of wood and embers appeared no more menacing than that of any garrison, something that would allow none looking on from afar to discern the reality of what had transpired inside.<p>

Shadows crept across the courtyards stone walls as bodies moved around in the dark, some warmed around the fire nursing fresh wounds while others worked in pairs to drag felled opponents to the depths of the keep below, tellingly the bodies that where unceremoniously heaped in the shallow depth bore the polished golden armour of the Elvin state of Aldmeri.

Those that had prevailed held no such aligning garb, each bearing a different assortment of armour, arms and if closely perceived race of being, it was of course strange to see such a diverse group working so closely without the infamous imperial armour covering their person, the only likely suggestion being that they where in fact a mercenary party or a more murderous lot bandits found throughout Tamrielic lands.

The reason for such an alignment from the norm was not at all apparent, yet still stood prominently over the entrance of the small fortification, there one small fire basin lit up five figures against the howling northern winds, of which one stood out against the many.

Three of these were mottled together in a fashion that was not at all pleasant, two strong looking nord's in fur's and hide armour that held a third figure garbed in that very same elvin armour of those being disposed of below. Compared to her captor's the mer prisoner was of a typically slight build but easily able to match their height if not forced down to her knees.

Her helmet that would have shown her high rank had been pulled free in the chaos allowing her dark as night locks to flow over her face, like many of her race she was blessed with high cheek bones and unblemished dark skin that would endear those favouring more exotic fare towards her.

Unfortunately for now the most prominent feature of her face was that of an ugly, swollen bruise that ran from her now blackened right eye along her bloody cheek, finishing with a lip that had received a nasty slice after an impact with a sword pommel in the battle.

It was hardly the worst injury she had received in her service to the dominion, she knew that it wouldn't be the most grievous she received on this night either.

Apart from these beings there where two other present on the battlement, one stood off and away from the revealing light in swept up darkened robes that revealed little of anything, while the most prominent figure stood on the very lip of the man made formation.

Unlike the other singular being that was shrouded away by the night, this person was bathed in the light of the flames that cast a red hue against the imposing scaled, in some places spiked armour that settled along his form, his masculinity evident given his strong body shape.

This individual was a sight due to the inspiring armor covering his body alone, no ebony or iron was present but rather a combination of dragon bone and well strung leathers that had been forged together to make a truly astounding set of protective garb.

It was a mystery as to how such a thing could have been forged at all, the high elf like many others wondering how even the most skilled of forgers could have possibly shaped such hardened bone into something as practical as a suit of armour.

Then again nothing was normal about the mortal creature that stood quite tall and very proud against the oncoming winds of Skyrim's fiercest waterway, he was the very definition of a rarity.

He was clad in armour that would suggest that he was merely a great warrior, yet like many of his mer-man race he was reknowned amongst his lot as a being as much of an intellectual as he was a fighter. His brilliance with a sword was met well by his natural gift for magikca that had made for a fearsome opponent that many had fallen beneath, both in the phoney war's conducted at great cost by the empire and now the rebellion of Skyrim.

He was tall of stature but lacked the same heights of the Altmer held low before him, nor did he hold the same branwy mass of those soldiers holding the elf. Yet still he was an impressive person to look upon, his face was vivid with prominent cheeks and a strong jaw that was added to by broad shoulders and supple hips brought on from years of warfare and lean living. If one cared to look they would find his hands dark and stained from years of magical study, complemented by hard skin and scarring that suggested not all his earlier years were spent on enchanting and alchemy, rather battlefields and martial training.

He was a High Rock native but more importantly from the place of Dwynnen, his family was once those who had the honour of being in the service of the barony in the Order of the Raven, though he had had an ancestry in the proud traditions of the realm his father's own senior had lost his importance due to remissness in his offerings to the adopted nine divines. Like his father he had been eager to serve in the realm's legendary guard but old prejudices and political malcontents meant that he never received the high honour.

It had meant that the time of his birth his family had fallen away into the poverty associated with those unable to afford the glamorous lifestyles usually attributed to most bretons, his father had rather instead gained a livelyhood hunting the more deadly creatures in order to provide rare pelt's and adventurous stories, many always suspected it was to perhaps gain the eye of one of the legendary order in his own mind.

As a child, the then to be dragonborn had played always on the great oaken tree that resided in the middle of their small alcove, climbing above it and proclaiming "i am the Son of Akatosh, and this is my route to the gods", his uncle Guilbert had recognised his oddities early and saw that the boy did not come to want, rather filling his younger years with books and lore that would further fill the young man's mind to greater adventure.

When he was fifteen his mother sent him travelling for his education, for a time he studied at the colleges of Daggerfall before an incident with a lord's son caused him to fall into trouble with the imperial authorities, what would then happen was that at the tender age of sixteen, he was forced off from High Rock to fight off his 'crimes' in service to his empire.

_A Breton with a backbone ha, never have I seen such a curious thing_, the words from his first drill instructor as he settled affairs with a far older, bigger and tougher recruit that had attempted to pick on the runt of the pack, it had been been a brutal reprisal he had suffered in the attempt, but in the years that had came after he had became a notable legionary, a man who provided for his family and a loyal man of the empire, for a time at least.

"Your hunting party returns champion," announced the cloaked being to his immediate left, an elfin hand raised in casting from beneath the veil of wraps to join the low, almost drawling declaration.

Knowing it was futile to pose a question as to how such information could be discerned in the dark of night, the man instead turned away from the barren stretch in front and regarded his captive, still forcibly knelt before him in what otherwise would have been an act of subservience.

"it seems the night is not quite over yet Thalmor" the _champion_ with unconcealed mirth in his voice declared to the prisoner, approaching the kneeling figure in two long steps allowing her to look upwards and catch sight of his face, hidden mostly behind the jagged dragon helmet he wore that added to his already imposing figure, only his light blue orbs catching her darkened sight.

At that moment the elf knew she would give her soul to the planes of oblivion just to press a blade to his throat, to be able to see the fear in his eyes before she drew both his life and blood through that one single act of pulling the knife across his jugular.

Instead she settled for throwing cruses at him while he fixed a self-satisfied smirk across his face, eager to press the most humiliation on his defeated nemesis that he so desperately despised. Without warning the nord holding her right side reached back with his gauntleted hand before driving it across her face, knocking her off balance and drawing blood from an already weak brow.

This elicited a small measure of caution from the man who held authority, his hand coming up to deter the man from another strike "I would refrain from anymore of that elfish tongue, my man here has a particular hatred for you Aldmeri types" he said with no note of caution in his tongue, rather amusement if anything.

He heard the urging voices beyond the fortification that he had expected for now half a day, causing him to turn away to gaze outward again at the eastern stretch of the frozen Skyrim plain lands, just beyond an archer's reach were two figures riding hard for the entryway of the small hold on the backs' of strong beasts.

Behind them was a trio of flapping objects tied to their saddles with rope and some invention, he could hardly be confused as to what these would be knowing the incoming pair. They reached the gate in little time, stopping before the walls and turning upwards to regard him.

"we've brought the elves you wanted, bastards had us pushed to the borders of the hold before we caught up to them" the rightmost man announced loudly, cutting an impressively sized figure on his sturdy gray haired mount, with him was a lithe woman that like many nord women was flame haired and emerald eyed, both wore a distinctive cut of ancient looking Norse armour that stood out along with that of their charge above.

"good work catching them, better work in bringing back their corpses" he complimented with satisfaction, always appreciate of these two companions if any "you should bring them inside and dispose of them with the others, I want no one to know anything of this".

On that both nodded in understanding, leading their horses inside albeit more slowly as not to over excite the beasts, in a few moments the bodies where being untied and dragged away by those already situated at the ground of the base while the two on horseback made for his up risen position.

Words where shared between many of those below at the entrance of the newcomers, they didn't keep those above waiting too long as they where very soon approaching, the impressively muscled man had managed to take a hold of a number of tankards filled with the nord's favourite mead.

He presented it to the dragon plated High Rock native who accepted it eagerly, only the mage refused with even those men holding the captive accepting eagerly, "to a well fought victory, against those who would seek to dominate us" the man who was formerly referred to as _champion_ announced loud enough to elicit a cheer from those below, who had for the most part settled down with their duties finished.

"praise you Reynald Manis, harbinger of the companions and dragonborn" was the following cheer uttered by the newly arrived nord female, nearly all in the base raised their cups and tankards in unison to add to the good spirited announcement, he returned himself with a welcoming smile.

"praise you Aela, the most cunning off all the companions" Reynald announced loud enough just for those in the immediate vicinity to hear, "though not the most fearsome" he added a moment later, giving him a knowing nod to the large beast of a man beside her.

"silver tongued as always" the man announced before downing his mead in one hearty drink, tossing the tankard away when finished, then producing a piece of crumpled paper from a small holdout in his left gauntlet, "they where carrying this, orders to be given to another hold outside the reach, looks like something you may want to read".

The Breton took the piece of formerly fine paper in hand and settled the edges apart without delay, it read the following.

_I request more assassins to be sent in order to ensure the success of our operations within the nord homeland. In order to enforce the will of the dominion we can no longer afford to rely on those weak imperial fools to put down the stormcloak rebellion that is now rampant. Of special interest are the remaining members of the blades including the already marked for execution Reynald Manis and their grandmaster. Ulfric Stormcloak must be a priority for extermination within the dominion for he has now outlived his usefulness. For the glory of the Aldmeri Dominion._

"a pleasant enough read" Reynald drawled, finishing up his own drink and handing the piece of paper back to his man, he didn't invite anymore discussion but rather instead made for the fire basin still surviving in the harsh winds, the particular wording around Ulfric did cause a spike of interest within him however.

He picked up a large cyan coloured bottle that he had placed there hours before after formulating a rough plan in his head, he brought the item to rest in front of the high elf who appeared ragged against her captor's rough grip.

"this as I'm sure you know is a bottle that contains just exactly what you need" the Breton started, placing the bottle before the downed elf and motioning for his warriors to allow her freedom of movement, "it'll allow you to use whatever incantation you'll need to restore your strength and heal your wounds".

The words notably perked up the female who brought her eyes up to gaze at the bottle, Reynald extended his hand in offering while his guards where ushered away.

"I propose a deal Thalmor, in which I allow you to restore your strength and will also allow you freedom if you are victorious, however if you restore your strength and instead are defeated you will promise to reveal where this other keep of your brethren is, an offer that sounds far better than the end of my sword". Hanging in the air for a moment the offer stunned those around him, while it outright unsettled the Altmer who looked up to him suspiciously.

"what are the terms" she asked after little time, he just as quickly replied telling her, "simple, you and I as opposing leaders will fight in single combat to discern a victor of who will receive the spoils. No magic or craft beyond that of you recovering your strength".

"why should I believe you'll uphold your end of the bargain" she asked him, voice still dripping with that condescending tone made famous by her kind, but with a small hint of hesitancy to it.

"because we're here in the land of the nord's" he said with seeming exasperation, "a people who I've taken to my heart, and a people who respect honest fair combat, unlike your sort of filth I suppose".

"will your men respect it when I take your head of your shoulders" she asked hotly, gaining more resolve seeing her apparent freedom a reality.

"if that happens I'll not be around to know" he countered back, giving her a knowing look before taking his helmet off in two hands. He handed it to one of the men who had before been holding her captive, he then smoothly pulled free the man's sword which was a finely cut steel blade.

It was of the narrower design that the standard imperial sword, the pommel not as prominent and hand guard pronounced on both sides of the grip, he tossed it towards the elf that had already without agreement drank down the potion. The blade landed as the magical effects of her known spell began to work around her, he noted that her bruising and cuts began to lessen to a degree.

"there you are, some fine nord steel" he presented, motioning towards the sword while reaching for a blade that he had discarded near his feet before the winds had really hit, "I don't think it a fair bout if I use my own augmented weapon".

"Aela" he called while tossing the blade, hidden inside a notably detailed blackened scabbard away into the assortment of warriors, the reply was not with words but with another weapon being tossed back in response. It was inside a sheath meaning he could catch it in hand without fear of losing any fingers, pulling it free he noted that it was of the same cut as that he had given his upcoming opponent.

"are we in agreement elf" he asked, holding the weapon loosely in his right hand with no guard yet drawn.

"this is as useless as the people who made it" she told him, having finished her restoration and came to a half erect position, "I wish to use an elvin sword". Reynald then laughed, once again surprised at the audacity of her sort.

"perhaps you can go to the keep and pick one off your numbers corpses" he suggested, in response he got a howl of anger as the elf rose up and came at him with a fury, her first powerful blow came at his previously unprotected left side.

In response he brought his blade up in a straight forward parry that absorbed the brunt of the blow, but not enough to stop her blade cutting against the armor protecting his left arm, the blade however didn't have enough behind it to actually inflict damage meaning he forced the Thalmor away with strength afforded by taut muscle and practised ease.

She returned again with a strike at his left side which again he caught on the far length of his blade, using his sure footing and experience he pivoted forward and twisted his blade downwards that caused her own to be pushed downward and away. He drove forward on his left foot and sent a fist that caught her jaw, to the tall soldiers credit she only stumbled a few steps back before regaining her composure.

He didn't let her rest though as he pressed forward with his blade striking against the elf who was on the back foot, nearly always wielding both shield and sword Reynald instead fought without the burden of such protection.

He flowed forward with his blade in a one handed grip, rather than attempt to work through her guard he instead attempted to rattle her with heavy blows with his own, she managed to fend off two high blows before he managed to catch her blade high with his own sweeping at a chest level. Under pressure and still addled the breton who was as quick as he was strong managed to get beyond her defence, lowly he flicked his blade down towards her mid-section but met only the flesh of her thigh as she hopped backwards to escape what would have been an almost surely disabling cut.

Her blade now coming up to strike Reynald pivoted back allowing the blade to scrape harmlessly against his parrying sword, she followed again with momentum behind her slashing across to take him off at the head. He ducked under the strike nimbly before expertly catching her blade as she attempted to bring up a defence after her powerful swipe, with no where near enough leverage to turn his small advantage into a killing stroke he instead drove his head against that of his enemies.

He was rewarded by a flush of her blood erupting from a now broken nose and while he could not see it through his rattled vision, the elf who had failed to take into account how close she had been to the edge of the battlement now lay some ways down, it was enough of a distance to cause her not to rise immediately.

That left her still standing opponent time to drop onto some stacked supply boxes beside the walls, he came to land on the snow covered ground just as she began to rise. Turning on him with anger she again rushed with her blade swinging in high to low, he met the stroke with his own fiery reply.

Both being experienced combatants meant that neither waited around for the other to strike, their blades forced each other low and then the fight began to gain momentum. Now unburdened by the height of the battlement both settled into a rhythm of strike and counter strike, parry and evade.

Reynald with his blade wove around in the madness of the battle with deftness enhanced by superior footwork that was matched with the elf's long reach and lean draughr like strength, by now all had gathered around to watch the spectacle of the battle with ale and mead in hand.

The combatants focused only on defeating the other, the elvin commander attempting her best to overcome the Breton's resolute defence by striking wide against his sometimes exposed limbs, she soon found however that if he was not spared by his quick movement and amazing reflexes he could call on his strong armour to protect him from her blade.

For all the advantage her long strokes wrought his feet allowed him to switch from this side to that, while his own blade was a flurry of unexpected strokes that sent her grasping meet the attacks he was able to launch with the burden of replying without an encumbering shield.

They exchanged another twenty or so bouts before there blades finally locked in respite, looking into the eyes of the enemy Reynald could see the cold realisation beginning to form inside her dark orbs, he wasted no time in forcing the lock apart before turning up the ferocity of the battle to put his tiring opponent under more strain.

Even with being conditioned in combat from the day she joined the mighty dominions Thalmor arm, the elf found herself wilting against the foe before her. He was a man who had been written into the legend of the era as an unparalleled warrior, someone who had ascended to the throat of the world and its seven hundred steps before the night had broken upon the mount, it didn't bear to think about all those that had fallen beneath him in battle.

She felt his namesake being pressed upon her with every vibration that rattled her sword arm and strained her wrists.

The same warrior had pressed on against his opponent with seemingly unrelenting ferocity, the defining blow came as he for a moment allowed his blade to linger out of guard for a second seemingly too long.

The Thalmor when realising his his blade being out of guard quickly reversed her back peddle and came forward attempting to skewer him, narrowly avoiding the attack he was again sent on his toes as she followed up attempting to cut him down the middle with a furious one handed stroke, rather than retreat completely he instead switched his weight onto his right side before throwing his momentum the very same way.

It was the most difficult cut and without the doubt the most risky, pivoting off his foot in the hope that her blade now striking from her own right to his leftmost centre mass would miss him completely as he pulled to the side. He turned into the strike that would give him unlimited access to her exposed underside if successful, his back showed to his enemy for a moment before his blade came around full circle to cut across her underside.

It was something he found not many combatants' realised or paid attention to, that being that after so much engagement a person could discern which side an opponent would strike against, how they would power their weapon arch and just what was their best sword arm, it hadn't helped that her mind was fatigued and eager for a conclusion.

Even the most powerful of adversary's had weaknesses, some inside their own strength's indeed , he had realised that his current rival favoured her left side far too often in combat most likely due to a previous injury. The wound had been slowed but not negated by her light elvin armour, it was after all designed to allow fleeting movement and agility, he wasted no time before closed the distance between them sword in hand as she crumpled into the snow slowly in defeat.

Blood began to discolour the white sheen that covered all the ground beneath them, her blade rested out of reach as she looked up with the fire escaping her eyes, "tell me the location and I will spare your life Thalmor" he said to her after a moment, the welcoming power of restoration flickering across his left palm for her to see.

She looked up at him with weak though defiant eyes, forcing with all her might not to appear so prostrate before such an adversary, it could not be helped however as her side flowed freely with blood. It was tempting at this moment for the mer to grovel and await saving at the hands of this man, a thought that tasted bitter on her tongue, it was after all the very idea of her dominion's enemy.

Thoughts of just how many of her brothers and sisters he had slaughtered in defence of their charge gave her enough strength to force the offer away, spitting an undignified glob of blood at where he stood just a few steps away, "_for the dominion_" she weakly said after another pained moment, leading him to raise his sword for a final blow.

"_**Blessings of Talos upon you Thalmor**_" he replied back coldly, stalking once forward before driving his blade downwards through her skull. A second later and the blade was free with brain matter and darkened blood coating its usually fine length, behind him then from the crowd of onlookers a tall nord that was very familiar came forward.

His face was the very visage of grimness associated with the nord warriors, tall and imposing he was easily a foot or two taller than that of the man now attempting to wipe clean his stained blade, accompanying that was a hard stare from pearl white eyes, an unruly long black mane and a face that was covered in disfiguring scars.

"you made a meal out of that brother" the man who was well known among them said, a claymore at his back while a cup rested in his hand, he was seemingly oblivious to the cold if his lack of fur was anything to go by, preferring a light set of wolf sculpted leather armor over his limbs and torso.

If Reynald was offended by the teasing words it didn't show on his face, rather a smirk that was accompanied by a hearty hand to his imposing allies shoulder, "You know I make it a tough task of it after a long day, we after all have made a day of it haven't we", The question was asked not just to the broad shouldered brute he grazed past but towards all those assembled around the fires, burning in spite of the fierce wind that was attempting to engulf them.

It made for a scene as he walked through the host of the keep, flames licking against those attempting to warm themselves while the heavy winds blew off anything not held in place, he stopped within the grouping before speaking with a voice rising above the deafening wind.

"Vilkas my shield brother is correct of course, I allowed the Thalmor far too much charity today with my offer of freedom, little did she know she was already resigned to her fate" was what the breton said first with an almost political smoothness to his voice, gaining a few laughs with them before continuing.

"But what I wanted to demonstrate to the Thalmor one last time the resolve of those opposing their dominion, to see the knowing realisation her eyes before I sent her to whatever god she prayed to" Reynald continued, gaining knowing murmurs of appreciation, "these Aldmeri believe that they can just slay there way across Skyrim and all of Tamriel, confident of the imperials turning their heads while the good nord people, brave enough to follow their beliefs are sent to rot in places such as this". Now the murmurs where turned to shouts of agreement, many around raising mead filled tankards to show appreciation, he continued on again.

"I have known many who fought for the very same belief's as the so called rebels of Skyrim, across the barren stretches of Alik'r desert, to Cyrodiil and then to the gates of White Gold tower itself, only to be told that Talos was to be ripped from the pantheon of the gods, torn down by the demands of a man hating nation that I or they have never sworn fealty too".

"Not only was the gods themselves now subject to the Aldmeri and their demands, but my own fellows who had aligned with the empire where now left to fend for themselves, the emperor content to allow the high elves free reign to claim all of the Illac Bay for their own ends, if not for the resolve of it's fearsome inhabitants" Reynald's speech was now augmented by the steel filtering into his tone, allowing no one any reservations just how seriously he spoke, all had quieted in respect.

"It was to high cost that such a defence was possible, for my own brother and father where lost in the fight that had cost so many their lives, my brother felling a dozen dominion warriors before the cowards rained a shower of arrows down upon him, my father dying as those very same bastards slit his throat in his bed years later, for simply favouring the true divines" , the breton was now seething in his tone while his cobalt eyes where alight with fury as the words echoed, "even after giving all I had for the defence of the empire I was branded a traitor, those very same Thalmor sympathisers who had led to the death of my father driving me from my home in disgrace".

It was then the murmurs returned, none willing to break his stride but eager to show support.

"It was then I came to the lands of the nord, falling in with a great man and fellow veteran of the great war, Ulfric Stormcloak who like me wished to be free of these pauper emperor and his labouring beast, it was this very same nord who allowed me to see what had to be done in order to safeguard those I love, to save that which the true warrior god Talos had worked so hard to build", he then paused for a moment, to soak in the eyes of those around him to search for anything, agreement or displeasure, righteousness or indifference.

He found that very same hungry that was in his eyes all around him, men and women who felt the same hatred for the Altmer and their schemes, those who where riled at the thought of greats battles, or those who wished to be remembered as the greatest warriors of their age.

"What I talk about is a great crusade to rid the empire of their Aldmeri burden, to cleanse all those lands sick of having to bow to the Thalmor and their whim, what I talk about is reclaiming the empire from those who seek to drive it to its knees", he was truly anxious then, for the first time since he had thought up the plan of his, suicidal and bold in equal measure "I wish to secure my people's lands from those unfit to rule it just as Ulfric has done here, I wish to tear High Rock from the grasp of Titus and his elvin masters".

He took a second then to look upon his companion's faces, all breaking in surprise from his words before he spoke finally, "what say you brothers, companions and those who have sworn to stand by my side, will you join me" were the bold words, spoken in a voice that seemed to brooke no dissent but was said with a cautious mind.

It was then that even the wind seemed to stall in silence and those around him took to pondering what had just been said, one who was the gruffest of them all stalked forward and approached so that he was eye to eye with the relatively lesser leader, it was the same nord who had ridden so hard to deliver the Thalmor prisoners.

"You ask us to leave our halls and holds to seek out a war with the force that controls the lands from the Bay to the mountains of Morrowind, to fight for a people that care not for me nor my brothers" Farkas, the twin of the equally fearsome Vilkas asked as if to doubt what was asked.

"I ask you to do as **_Ysgramor_** and the **_five hundred_ **once did when they raged against those that had sacked their homes, I ask you to either gain honour in battle at my side or gain it in death as my brother, and as companions, **_what say you!_**" Reynald pressed, offering out his gauntleted hand in offering with a look of resolution upon his supple, rounded features.

The response was instant as the man's beast like hand meshed in with Reynald's own, both men sharing a grin as they attempted to crush the other in a show of foolery, "I'd follow you to the gates of oblivion harbinger, and slaughter any prince fool enough to get in our way".

"Daedric prince's know better than to get in the way of those stronger than them, it's the dominion that will receive the brunt of our type of misfortune" Reynald told him, with the nord hardly doubting such a promise. He had already faced down more enemies in one harvest with this man than he had in the last year alone, there wasn't anyone else who could stir up that same level of trouble.

Vilkas who had already given his peace to the proceedings made his way to intercede the pair and pulled free the great axe resting on his back, pronouncing boldly "well you two aren't getting all the Thalmor for yourselves, you'll have my blade to go along with my brother's and enough heads along with it",

"And my Axe" another warrior Reynald had grown fond of, an unusually stocky nord from Riften named Malreth announced while pulling free his small armed weapon.

"And my bow" the familiar voice of Aela 'the huntress' announced, followed by another and another until the only sound that was present was all those around them promising their favoured arms to his fool's errand, not one to hold a reserve in such a situation the breton who was seemingly revered by all his companions showed his pleasure with a hand raised in salute.

One who did not join their revelry was the aforementioned cloaked figure, who had made the way from the top of the former Thalmor outpost walls onto the ground like the rest of them, anyone could easily judge that it was indeed a female that glided through the maze of bodies by her height and shape alone.

That same judgement would be proven correct as a distinctly elvin, though more 'dark' than Altmer face appeared from beneath the robes that had before been wrapped around beforehand to fight off the cold, the distinction being made by the blood red eyes and discoloured pupil's that rested within, along with the light lavender coloured skin that appeared from the shroud.

She was of course one of his followers in the very same way that many where, he had proved himself a strong enough warrior to best the quest given to him by her own guiding force, she had then repaid him with the benefits of her considerable magical talents, as well as cautionary counsel brought on from seeing her own home destroyed years ago.

"I see you have convinced your cohort of your plan's Reynald, I wonder if you've completely convinced **_yourself_**" was the cryptic, though hardly surprisingly so question from the Dunmer. She often spoke to him in such a way as to set his mind alight in thought, he was ready this time however.

"you're worried that I plan a fool's errand, that my power and strength now gives way to thoughts of majesty beyond my means" he replied in a questioning matter but only in the rhetorical sense, "I would say that i only wish to take what my power allows me".

"Which is" she asked then, taking up a close position to the taller male with her eyes fixated upon him.

"to help drag this empire back from the brink, Skyrim is only the beginning to it" he told her, not at all pleased at the way her stare could unsettle him like it did, for whatever reason, "soon Ulfric will break the backs of the legion for good and the empire will be left with little, a central state filled with greedy king's and politicians, generals and councillor's eager to usurp the emperor's already floundering authority, soon the domoinion will strike again"

"This blessing of mine represents what it was that brought the empire into creation all those years ago" he said, solemnly rather than boastful now "I'll drive these Aldmeri back to their isles **_just_** as Tiber Septim did, or I'll die trying".

"Are you willing to sacrifice all those that will perish in such a great conflict" Aranea Lineth, servant of Azura asked, voice as stoic as her face was expressionless, just as often as it was mysterious many knew.

"I would need more than what I have here to truly cause any great conflicts I think Aranea" he replied genuinely, it was no illusion that he was far lesser than that of his proposed opponents, relying on stretched numbers and guile to strike the first blow with no loss.

"I foresee that you will one day oversee a host strong enough to cause the destruction you so readily seek, there is no doubt of that" she told him, causing the breton to crinkle his brow in confusion.

"I had thought your power of foresight had left you since my triumph within the star" he asked, confused . As mysterious as before she simply told him "_one_ _does not need foresight to see such things_", leaving him to ponder the statement as the rest of them attempted to pull the conversation apart.

"Sounds like even the dark elf agrees Reynald, you're a shoo in for emperor" Vilkas who was crasser by the tankard shouted, causing another merry laugh. The Dunmer had taken only a second or so of a retreat to disappear away from his sight leaving him to accept a readily offered mug of ale.

"I don't want to be emperor brother" he answered back rather sullenly, unhappy to see his cryptic once again fail to bring herself into his fold, "i just want to give those thalmor bastards what they deserve".


	3. The Dragon & The Hawk

Ok alright anyone who's seen the first chapter and the prelude well here we go, this will be the start of me getting this story underway, now like the predule the first part of this chapter will be in the more general theme of how i will present it, though it'll be more detailed in relation to how things progress rather than how things have happened in the past.

The second part will entail the closer descriptive storymode of how i will do things, if there's any particulair critics on either part i'd love to hear it before i get into the swing of things, thanks.

* * *

><p>The rise of the fortunes of the Mede family began when Titus the first slew the last of his opponents to the throne to finally raise the banner of his family, which only ended the whole of the empire belonged to the Mede family. This magnificent right was handed down in succession to the son of the first Mede emperor, the rule was of which would be doomed to see the beginning of the old empire's downfall.<p>

But the descent into misrule was hastened in the reign of the processor of Titus the second, his father who sat on the throne around the beginning of the fourth era, his rule would lead to yet another fracture of the empire that none would experience until more than a hundred years in the future.

Emperor Titus the first while a great warrior paid no heed to the good people of his court, instead giving his confidence to the mostly decadent and power hungry elder council. In these times he used their influence and power to steady the ailing empire, thereby empowering these few beings to greater authority and power that only served to rouse their hunger further.

Both a regent marshal and an imperial guardian attempted to curb the designs of the council, disgusted with the abuses of the group in the affairs of the empire. They plotted for the destruction of the council en masse but alas the group was too strong and held too many of the pairs confidents, both men fell to the blades of dark brotherhood assassins as the plot leaked out leaving the elder council strong than before.

It meant that when the second emperor of the Mede dynasty had taken the throne the elder council held the power of a great majority of the empire, through either cajoling or darker means available to them.

The empire was ran day to day not only by the edicts of the emperor but by the considerations of a group who held much of the financial clout of the empire, laws where based around much of the taxation enforced in the powerful parties interest, leaving the poorer citizens and regions of the empire in ire of their government.

The great war only added to further unrest within the provinces as heavier taxes and stricter laws where enforced by the governing councils of the floundering realm, eager to rebuild following the destructive war that had ravaged many of the cities across Cyrodiil, the added insult of the removal of Talos from the pantheon of gods led to the rebellion in Skyrim, and the ensuing chaos that would follow.

The empire would not truly fracture as Ulfric Stormcloak slew the high king of Skyrim, rather it fell upon the fourth day of the month of sun's dawn, _4E_ _199, _in the era of established calm. It would happen as the emperor Titus made his usual state visit to the temple of the one. For as he drew near the offering plate to the great emperor Martin a rushing whirlwind arose around the great hall, and from the edifice of Akatosh a great black serpent would appear as if to strike down the leader of men.

As his guards rushed to protect their liege the beast recoiled away, burning fiercely across the hall and catching the procession full on in the blaze. But then when recovering in his palace a terrific thunder struck across the white gold tower, and torrents of rain, hail and lightening wrought havoc across the surrounding city.

Many seers where brought forward to consult the scrolls, while advisors and the people of importance around the emperor attempted to lay aside his fears, whatever calm was gained by his placation was swept away in the following period however as more ill omens followed the powerful being.

It was then that the true realisation of what lay in store in Skyrim was heard, as not only rebellion prevailed in Skyrim but the great dragon threat of era's long past, in the midst of the crisis came tales of a brilliant warrior that was dragonborn, something not known of since Talos had warred across Tamriel in his quest to build an empire.

It left the man on the throne of men awaiting anxious news of an imperial victory over its wayward citizens, only to find more and more of the holds and their imperial defender's being taken at the hands of that very same dragonborn.

It meant that at the beginning of the year _4E 200 _the emperor decided to march his own personal legion to settle affairs, and as he prepared sacrifices at the tomb of his father a long wreath of murky cloud settled across the tombs of Titus the first, leaving those graves of the adjoining Septim's free.

On his return to the palace it was relayed to the emperor by startled courtesans that a great ebony beast more dragon than serpent settled itself on the dragon throne, while away from the capital a part of the Jerall mountains collapsed, leaving a mighty rift at the flank of the former bastion of the empire, cloud ruler temple.

Such where the omens that besieged the emperor as he sailed to face of a surging threat of rebellion, the idea of a true dragonborn only adding to the sense of finality to his reign as he approached Skyrim.

It then came at the Sun's height that the emperor of the empire of men met his end at the blade of the dark brotherhood, a fitting end to a man who had spent much of his clandestine powers towards the removal of the age old group.

Only adolescent sons where left in Titus's passing, meaning that the elder council with their backers in the various legions across Tamriel began to wrestle and bargain for the much coveted position of regent, for Skyrim and its legionary commander Tullius it meant that he was without any of the legions brought forward by the departed emperor.

Beset on all sides by a rebellion that had engulfed the province the long serving commander battled in vain to slow the seemingly relentless march of Ulfric and his stormcloaks, aided by Jarl's now fearful of the same fate suffered by their number in Windhelm, and a now legendary standard bearer.

By the height of midyear _4E 200_ the rebellion was in full swing in Skyrim, with nords both far and wide throwing their lot in with Ulfric and his warriors, all calls for support from Cyrodiil met the ears of generals and councillors pulling their force towards the capital eager to put themselves in pole position for regency.

By the end of midyear the stormcloak rebellion had made its way to the very heart of imperial Skyrim, it was then that the dragonborn with his company of warrior returned to Ulfric's side.

* * *

><p>The city of solitude was the innermost part of the Nordic homeland, the jewel of the province where many great families, kings and emperor's had called home, it was what nearly all of those of importance came to know in the realm and for good reason, the city had finery unlike any other city within the nine holds of the land, bastioned by great walls that where fit to repel any attacker.<p>

That very claim would however be disputed on the second day of suns height, as the armies of Ulfric stormcloak rushed the dragonbridge that gave entrance to the city, wilted by the struggle and without the enforcement of their brothers in Cyrodiil the legion quickly found themselves overwhelmed and in retreat.

By the time sunlight began to escape the hold the stormcloaks had the first city of Skyrim in a tight noose, with every pass and mountain track under the vigilant guard of stormcloak sentries, all was quiet until then a force appeared from the northern passes riding at a great pace with the sun at their backs.

At first the collection of soldiers thought it to be an advance of the Thalmor riding in to smash the stormcloaks flanks, eagerly they un-slung their bows and readied their spears for the encounter only to be surprised by the encroaching force.

Instead of a well drilled Thalmor cavalry party, complete with their signature composite bows and long spears, they were in its place met with a party of horsemen bearing the ancient standards of the first Nordic riders of Skyrim, there was no polished golden evlin armour but instead the sight of hardened steel and signature wide shields of Nordic design that left no doubt as to their identity.

At the head of the party was a figure that was unmistakeable with his encompassing armour, the instantly recognisable dragon bone making the rebels lower their weapons as the party got within striking distance.

The distance was closed between the parties to just a half dozen lengths or so before the dragonborn and his companions stopped, pulling fiercely on his the leather harness of his snow white mount, to the patrolling soldiers he was the definition of commanding.

The wide shield of Ysgammor lay rested at the left hold of his saddle while a spear rested to his right, while his gauntleted fingers gripped his horse reigns tight, the stormcloak leader noted the smooth looking scabbard holding his signature weapon at his waist.

Some could remember the sight of the Breton charging the imperial lines with that very same blade in hand with a struggling stormcloak force in tow, many others had heard about it since then to inflate the story to legend.

"Hail, where is Jarl Ulfric" Reynald asked with his voice taking on an imperious tone, portraying the sort of authority he had came to be associated with by enthralled stormcloaks, the leader quickly informed him that he would only need to ride a few more lengths to reach their leader.

Reynald then took to riding again with a simple salute, his party rushing off behind him without another word, many of the stormcloak soldiers paid respect to the warrior band that passed them, having been raised from birth to show difference to the legendary group.

The man of course did not lie, for as the group passed just a few lengths they began to come up upon the main stormcloak encampment, it was not before they passed the main advance to solitude, there they found there many bodies of imperial soldiers that had been cut down in the fighting all being roughly tossed into piles at the roadside.

"Some respect to show the dead" Vilkas said with contempt, Farkas who like his brother road close to their harbinger gave a nod in agreement, Reynald shared their sentiments exactly.

With that they also took in the sight of the defence of Solitude, all tall walls and strong stone and mortar, at the walls many soldiers all ready with spears and bows stood at attention, torches and accompanying tubs of oil also where present on the inside.

It meant a literal death sentence for a good many of Ulfric's stormcloaks, if even they got beyond the archers arcs they would ran into spears and skin melting oil, sieges like this where the nastiest business within warfare, there weren't many that would come out unscarred.

As Reynald and his men pressed on towards the inn that Ulfric currently resided in, he knew there could be much done to prevent such a costly battle.

"Tie the horses and make camp, I'll meet Ulfric alone" Reynald said to his companions, stopping short of the inn where numerous stormcloaks mulled about, he dropped off his sturdy beast easily and made for the entrance to a standard looking rustic tavern guarded by two at attention stormcloak guards.

Neither bothered to offer any resistance as he approached, instead they parted allowing him to push open the solid wooden doors that would allow him entrance to the meeting currently going on. As he got inside it was well underway, various nords most of which he knew where throwing about either their arguments for and against a direct assault, while others where parading their badges of honour in order to push their case to lead the charge.

It was a distasteful thing to see a man charged with the care of others determined to put them into danger, he knew from a life of service in the legion that it was the only way of getting the glory and honour so relentlessly sought.

He approached from behind the assembled crowd of which had made a rough map from two slotted together tables, at the head directly facing Reynald was Ulfric who ever the perceptive noted him his entrance.

"Ah, it seems the dragonborn has seen fit to grace us with his presence" the soon to be high king announced loud enough for all to take note and turn, all the men around the table and their guards then looked upon Reynald as he pressed forward.

"I come to offer my aid" Reynald replied easily avoiding the man's casual irritation, noting that Ulfric looked far more jaded that his usual self, his relatively youthful eyes appearing darkened and his skin blemished.

The nords around him parted as he arrived at the makeshift strategy table, allowing him to pull off his ever intimidating dragon helmet which allowed his unruly auburn hair free, he settled it on the table along with the different pieces of the map that were being used to mimic enemy positions.

Many of the nords around him had settled their steely and somewhat suspicious gazes on Reynald as he entered their number, most if not all of Ulfric's supporters where the older, more reserved types of nords that had not been subject to the changing ways of the likes of their Solitude based opponents.

He was after all a Breton, a people widely passed off as a weak sub-sect of elves in the pure Nordic eyes of those around him.

"It's about time dragonborn, we could have taken the bridge with half the casualties if you'd managed to show up on time" grumbled one of the more prominent nords, Ulfric's chief general Galmar Stone-Fist.

"I was engaged with our Thalmor friends north of Solitude, they didn't receive me too well" Reynald replied easily, quite happy to detail his excursions north of the premier city of Skyrim, "the elves positions from the reaches of the western mountains to the city are all in ruins, they won't be upsetting your flanks anytime soon".

"Did you find their ambassador" Ulfric asked quickly, displaying the underlying reason for his resentment all too well, it was no secret to Reynald that the man had endured much at the high elves hands.

"no, she must have escaped into the walls of Solitude with a number of her men, both their forts and embassy where undermanned" the Breton told him, eager to press the same amount of justice on the cruel woman, equally responsible for all the horrible crimes her soldiers had committed as their captain was in ordering them, "it would mean that Solitude not only has its own guard, but both the remnants of the imperial garrison and a sizeable number of Thalmor soldiers".

With that the already vocal Galmar slammed his fist on the wooden table, shaking the flimsy map and pawns that where being used to denote positions and opponents, "if it wasn't enough that we had to deal with Tullius and his best dogs, we now have those pointy eared bastards as well, there the finest archers in Skyrim" he said distastfully noting such a vilified opponents skill.

"They'll pick our men off by the dozen once we storm the walls" Ralof, one of Ulfric's confidants said to lend weight to Galmar's statement, he was unlike the majority of men at the council a man who Reynald could agree with on most things, a relatively young Nordic commander who was more modern than his banal counterparts.

"Which is why I say we starve then out, might as well let those imperials fester inside the walls for a time" another man, old and grizzled just like Galmar said, only to be scoffed at by the rest of his comrades.

"If we let them rot as you say, Cyrodiil will send a legion if not more to break our army from our flank, we must smash them now" Galmar pressed, giving Ulfric a firm look of assurance just to that point, Ulfric always observant agreed.

"We must deal with the imperials now, there won't be any benefits in letting them hold out inside their stone walls, even if it costs us in men" Ulfric said himself, his tone carrying some noticeable resignation to it.

"We could lose a great many men Ulfric, it may be wise to weaken those inside before we assault" Galmar said, piquing those assembled interest, "we do it by slinging foul carcases and diseased plague rats over the walls with our catapults, anyone inside will be climbing the walls to escape a black death".

This time it was not a nord that interceded but instead Reynald, his voice was noticeably riled, "why not just take the heads from those already slain, and catapult them over in droves, perhaps we could dig up king Torygg's body and fire it over the wall also" said the relative outsider, shocking the men that had assembled.

"You speak as if the city is the jewel of the summerset isles Galmar, there are good nord people inside, not just imperials and Thalmor" the man continued on with a steely edge to his voice, Reynald had never had much time for the block headed nord save to annoy him, it certainly worked time and time again as Galmar fixed him with an equally chilly glare.

"What would you suggest then man-mer, should we use some trickery to steal the city like your ilk are so fond off" Galmar replied, intending to disrespect him by mentioning his mixed racial ancestry as he did in times pass, Reynald as always offered a small smile in response.

"A piece of trickery that saves many lives in advisable to more death and bloodshed Galmar, a good general knows how to win a battle, a great general can win without fighting" Reynald stated, as if offering some advice to a youth, with the nord simply snorting in response.

"This isn't your war Breton, we nords use our strength and our steel to destroy our enemies, the imperials need to be sent a message" Galmar shouted back, losing his composure against Reynald's questioning and the general lack of action being taken, he yearned for the blood of more elves and as he saw it traitors to the gods.

Ulfric then spoke again himself, still sounding cautious but more resolute than before "I agree with Galmar, this must be resolved with a decisive battle", while it did not show on his face, Reynald had feared such a train of thought from the stormcloak leader.

It was something that ran contrary to everything he hoped and planned for, the very definition of a Thalmor victory in Skyrim. If the stormcloaks rushed Solitude and slaughtered everyone inside the imperials would send a legion in retaliation by the end of the spring, ruling regent or not, Reynald needed the imperials inside to leave of their own accord and without the promised slaughter.

So did Ulfric, whether he was too dim to know it or not.

"with all due respect Ulfric your belief is flawed, is you decide to assault Solitude you will destroy any chance you have of holding Skyrim, of that I have no doubt", Reynald told his chief ally, the words uttered gaining the expected the ridiculing sneers from the assembled nords, with nearly all the grizzled men of the council shouting out in outrage at his apparent disrespect to their leader.

"How does destroying my enemies work against me" Ulfric asked, surprising Reynald not for the first time with his seemingly boundless appetite for taking on people's advice, very much so like a king with his conciliatory approach.

"Because your enemies inside the walls of Solitude are few, battered down by a war that they have lost in its entirety, but even as they are doomed they are still able to decide the outcome in your favour or without, I speak of the ramifications of your next act" Reynald told his keen listener, full well knowing that the man appreciated his opinion given it wasn't the usual Nordic rhetoric cycled out by Galmar and his one minded cronies, he'd certainly oblige in his most persuasive fashion.

"It may seem prudent to fight a decisive battle in order to expel Tullius and his legion, but by this very act you will spark an even greater conflict, for these men are the potential martyrs needed by a fractioned empire to unite behind the cause of one chief goal, your destruction and an end to a liberated Skyrim".

"It is no secret that Tullius was the dead emperor's most favoured general, his actions against the Thalmor in Hammerfell where enough alone to secure his position as chief among his peers, we have all heard of how he led the counteractions that forced them from the province, but what many did not hear was how his fellows hated him for his ingenuity, how they wished to be at the head of the war that would take your head", Reynald then spoke with the most charmed of tones, with the same eloquence as the glibbest tongued diplomat which made even the more adverse nords listen in.

"But with the emperor dead Tullius is just a man searching for the councils backing like any other, his calls for support being unheeded as all of his noble imperial fellows are busy promising their force for this councillor or that, why else would he be left to fight out this war to the most bitter of ends". The question of course was one that had yet to be answered, save for calls of imperials being power grabbers and turncoats, all true in Reynald's mind.

"Tullius is the finest of the generals of the imperial army, but that does not mean he should be destroyed in fear of what reprisals he can bring upon Skyrim, rather he should be used to secure it from imperial hands" Reynald then said, gaining a dubious look from Ulfric.

"Using Tullius against the empire, a bold claim dragonborn as he is the most loyal of dogs" Ulfric said in response after a few moments of thought, still looking interested by what was being proposed however, Reynald of course already had his reply practised a hundred times over.

"Tullius is a man who does not pay any heed to the plots of the court but rather someone who relied on that of his relation to the emperor to gain his success, now with his chief supporter gone he has no more leverage while his opponents beg and offer to secure their own position"

"Tullius if martyred will be used as a convenient pawn to allow one other general to march on Skyrim, eager to avenge the death of their great general and friend, however if he was to surrender and march back to Cyrodiil with his standard broken, he would be your ploy to sow even more chaos in the courts", Ulfric was then fixated listening to the convincing Breton, anything to perhaps offset the upcoming battle that would be the most brutal of the war to date.

Something Ulfric had used Reynald and his powers for the entirety of his involvement in the war, in order to subjugate enemies rather than resort to all out war on any many occasions as possible.

"If you defeat Tullius with diplomacy rather than bloodshed it will lend creditability to your claim, not to mention avoid the upcoming siege, how hard will each man fight if he has nowhere to retreat to, how many civilians will die in the confusion of the battle, i promote you will be remembered for each and every man woman and child you send to Sovngarde, that i have no doubt of", the speech was now lent Reynald's most inspired tone, with Ulfric looking at his dragonborn supporter with a thoughtful expression, it seemed the man took each word as important as the next.

Even Galmar and his fellow nords where settled, clearly seeing that Ulfric was weighing up his options, "you believe Tullius will actually surrender the city" he asked then a moment later, allowing Reynald a minor feeling of victory for the time being.

"I believe that Tullius will think that he can do more good for the empire by bringing his remnants home rather than having them slaughtered to the last" Reynald answered back without hesitation, full well knowing the general was a strict but fair man, "at the very least it will allow doubt to seep into his soldiers minds, if they believe there is a chance they can escape with their lives they will take it by whatever means necessary".

Hardly having spoke Ralof took the few moments of silence after to do so, he lent weight to Reynald's arguments saying "The dragonborn has never stopped helping us since we were freed from Helgen, only now has he arrived with word that all the Thalmor between here and the border are destroyed due to his heroic efforts, can we not but trust him Ulfric".

Ulfric then apparently could not argue with the man's logic, saying thus as he called for an inkwell and some paper, "I think it is a fools mission to request peace from a man like Tullius, but Ralof is right when saying you have not done us unjustly, you may deliver these terms to the man", He then handed over the piece of hastily scrolled paper after a few moments of writing.

It read in badly scribbled writing as follows

_I Ulfric Stormcloak, as the rightful heir to the throne of High King of Skyrim will allow for the surrender of the imperial IV legion and it's commander, who on acceptance will be allowed to return home to Cyrodiil on the condition that may they never again attempt to return to war against Skyrim or I as High King, on the penalty of immediate death on further capture._

_Any Thalmor within the walls of Skyrim will be treated as criminals who carried out grievous acts of cruelty and murder against the Nordic people, no pardons will be granted. For those that reside within Skyrim I tell you that all will be given the chance to determine a life for themselves inside my new free nation, but any who resist will be destroyed as enemies of the Nordic people._

_I warn you Tullius give up, you don't want Elisif to share your fate._

Reynald took the note in before rolling it up tightly and sheathing it away within a small alcove in his chest armour, noting with a slight disappointment that Ulfric would not allow the Thalmor free, he had wanted to deal with the remaining force inside Skyrim himself, as naïve as it would be to think that Ulfric would actually let them escape unscathed.

"So we are really going to just let Tullius walk from this, we'll be the laughing stock of our men" Galmar half grumbled, his voice as neutral as it seemed to get as he was now speaking to one of the few men he respected truly.

Ulfric it seemed was not completely reassured by the plan if his face was anything to go by, a sigh escaping his lips, "I believe what the dragonborn says could be possible, and if it delivers the city without more bloodshed I am ready to accept Tullius crawling down before me", Ulfric then seemed to have an idea form in his head as he turned away from the table momentarily to grab an object.

It was an axe, much like the one he had presented to the former jarl of Windhelm, he made to round the table before holding it outstretched in his hand, "You may have convinced me of your plan Reynald, but you will find Tullius even more stubborn that Galmar here, he has until first dawn to accept or the city will be raised".

Reynald took the weapon in hand promising the city to be yielded at first light, adding "I'll make sure that Tullius surrenders by dawn, or I'll accepts the consequences of failure", that said he then took up his dragon plated helmet and marched for the door, followed by the eyes of the infuriated Galmar Stone-Fist,

"I hope Tullius uses that axe to cut off that man-mers head, only so I can cut off his" the aged nord said as Reynald left, gaining a strained look from both Ralof and Ulfric combined.

* * *

><p>Outside the small tavern Reynald emerged to a surrounding encampment, as the stormcloaks and now his own men settled in for the siege, just a few yards away Aela could be seen at the door of a local house taking with two half dressed stormcloak guardsmen who looked to have taken residence in the homestead.<p>

Reynald began to approach as the rest of his companions finished up to his left with tying down the horses and pulling free their provisions, "Hail Aela, what do you seek with these men" he asked, convinced she was up to her usual mischief.

She replied "I only seek some fine accommodation of course, I wish a good bed after some hard days riding", a simple enough explanation it seemed, far too much so for the most provoking of the companions Reynald thought.

"I'll believe you are only seeking a simple bed when I see your head rested upon the pillow" he said to her with a knowing smile, "and what do you offer for the house".

The fine flame haired woman gave him a look of haughtiness before replying, "The only thing a companion of this day has, the helmets of a defeated Thalmor warrior". Reynald was hardly surprised then, few nords had encountered a Thalmor and lived while fewer still had claimed one of their heads, it was a trophy worthy of any wall.

"A fair price for a small luxury," he remarked after a moment, noting that the rest of his men had finally finished and were approaching him for direction, he met them halfway while allowing Aela to barter on.

Vilkas was the first to speak up, though Farkas seemed just as eager at the head of the group, Aranea meanwhile just shadowed behind out of the way, "So do we fight" he asked simply, as eager as the nord Reynald had before bickered with though nowhere near as disrespectful.

"I go in to alone to press upon Tullius and his surrender" Reynald replied while showing off the axe he had held low beforehand, he could hardly be surprised to see the look of admonishment on the man's face.

"You'll be in Sovngarde by the second light, Tullius won't show you any mercy" The imposing nord said, reaching for the axe and taking it in hand, "why present such a small weapon as an act of challenge, why not a battleaxe" Vilkas asked in jest giving the weapon a good look over, like his brother he was by no means pleased with the dragonborn and his plot that was doomed to fail.

Reynald was set on his plan however, he'd have his peace and the opportunities it presented he knew, "take this" he said before undoing the clasp of his sheath, presenting his renowned weapon to the nord who only snatched it out of his hand in response.

"I'll use this to cut off the general's head in your memory brother" Vilkas grumbled, with Farkas who had been unusually quiet giving the same sentiment along, "see you in the hallowed halls" he said, Reynald to his credit did not receive their comments with anything more than a rueful smile.

"I'll surprise you yet" he replied, before turning to the cloaked Dunmer who had shadowed around to the front of the nord dominated group, "does the goddess watch over me" he said to her then, always eager to hear her cryptic though guiding response.

Her answer did not disappoint for the former, with the dark elf telling "I have seen a withered serpent and bright hawk over a city filled with the shadow of a wolf, at each other's throats. But even then a majestic dragon can be seen to light the way, with mundus playing the role of sacrifice".

Reynald then could see through the signs for what they were, but not what they foretold, "will this city be free from bloodshed" he asked, being told then with as much certainty "The city will see all the bloodshed within the years of division", Something that when said did not allow Reynald much comfort in either the vagueness or disturbing nature of the claim.

He was hardly to be put off by such a premonition however saying "Come what may, a man must act as his ambitions dictate", he then made for the steed he had left for his companions to tie up, getting up onto the beast with Ulfric's axe in hand.

He left his companions with few words before taking off towards the gates of Solitude, pulling free a standard of Ulfric's force as he did so, as the night began to fall completely over the sky above the dragonborn made for the imperials last major refuge in nord lands.

He made it there within two hundred paces of the walls and as the situation dictated drove his spear into the ground as an offering of surrender, instead of receiving an officer from the opposition he instead heard the twang of a bowstring.

What came was a flight arrow that just flew over his helmeted head, causing the dragonborn to fight his natural instinct to duck under the danger it presented, "I seek terms" he bellowed a moment later, his horse stepping around unsteadily.

Then a familiar voice called out in the near pitch darkness, "Turn away traitor, or you'll find an arrow closer to home" was the cry, Reynald however was not to be dissuaded so easily.

"Listen to me Rikke, either you hear my offer or I'll lead Ulfric's force here myself" Reynald shouted again, awaiting the answer that would determine the course of this final battle, he awaited for a small time before the gates of Solitude finally opened and out came a single rider.

It was a rider who came towards him at a pace too slow for a charge, he could not make out the figure save for the heavy imperial armour worn, then he knew for certain it was Rikke who approached, a nord he had became acquainted with both inside and out of battle.

She approached him while slowing her horse to within spear range, however only a fine imperial blade was her defence, "You have some nerve to think anyone within Solitude will listen to your poisonous words, you've taken up with Ulfric and his rebels" the legate huffed, with her helmet obscuring the sharp though surprisingly pleasing face Reynald had uncovered outside Windhelm, via a fierce slash of his blade.

"You owe me one chance Rikke, the same I presented you with when your legions broke at Windhelm" he replied simply, gaining a fierce reproach by her.

"That's legate Rikke to you traitor, and no personal debt outweighs my duty to the legion" she told him, before she caught his own eyes being distracted from behind, she turned her horse to see dual torches being waved at the high walls, taking the decision out of her hands.

"I sent for the general's word, he will hear your proposal" she said then, allowing him the knowledge that the hardest part was yet to come, "follow me" she added a moment later, ushering her horse on.

Reynald followed her in then, determined to leave the city intact.


	4. A High King Rises, But Which ?

Hello to anyone following this story, this will be my third installment and will deal with the outcme of the civil war in skyrim. It'll include yet more basis for the larger story i wish to embark on and i hope it isn't too boring for the length of it, if it is well let me know.

I appreciate the feedback so far and in reaction to one reader on grammer etc i'm willing to take on a beta, if anyone an allow the time or care to do so, thanks in advance!

Anything else well i'd love to hear thoughts, good or otherwise, enjoy :-)

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><p>The short run to the gates of Solitude was under the darkened sky of a moonlit Tamriel, with the only lights provided being that of the torches of the overlooking imperial garrison ahead, the guards above viewed the guest with suspiscion as the heavy gates of the city where allowed open enough to allow the riders within the walls. Reynald noted with both interest and disdain that inside the city was almost completely devoid of life, save for soldiers hastily erecting barricades and pitfalls to aid them if their walls fell.<p>

It was hardly surprising given their bleak situation; it did however force the idea of just how horrible such a defence would be if things did go the way of the sword; just another reason why he would have to be at his persuasive best he knew.

It required a willing ear to listen to his words however and as he entered beyond the gates he was met by five imperial guards wielding weapons designed to cut down a running horseman, spears for the rider and long swords for the beast, a bleak sign indeed.

"Dismount and be bound" Rikke now ushering her horse around Reynald's roughly ordered, the dragonborn in reply allowed his hands to flicker with the destructive powers afforded to him by a lifetime of study and training, "I came here to afford your leader some mercy from an enemy who would rather have his head, do not test me legate" he then warned fixing her a sideward glance that meant oncoming violence.

The guards around him tensed and instinctively set their weapons to strike while some guards above had as well prepared bows and throwing spears to lend to any attack, all of them had an idea though of the sort of power the mighty figure within their midst held, not enough to kill them all and live but certainly enough to mean any one of them could be slain before he fell.

The air tensed around the courtyard for a moment as Rikke and her guards held a standoff with the equally taut looking dragonborn, it finally relaxed however as Rikke waved the request saying "We'll allow you free reign for the time, but if you so much as blink wrong at general Tullius I'll have you flayed on the walls", the threat delivered was as much venom as the legate could deliver.

It however was against the backdrop of a nerve wracked guard who were eager not to be drawn into a battle with the legendary warrior, they all settled back to their duties with only half cast eyes as the dragonborn came down from his horse, then presenting the axe given to him by Ulfric to the now on foot legate.

"I believe you'll want to consider taking this" he said with the axe in his firm grip, she took it after a second and crossed eyes with the Breton, all determination hidden within cool azure eyes against her own emerald orbs, they held gazes for a moment longer before she moved off and ushered him on.

He obliged and followed the tall imposing nord warrior while her guards filtered in behind him, he had until this point expected a little more respect given his actions that saved so many of the imperial and house guard at the battle of Windhelm, he could relate through experience that imperials where quick to forget such things.

They continued further within Solitude's unique cityscape with Reynald taking in the all encompassing dread that currently permitted the city, only soldiers rushing to and fro along with only a few important civilians being present on the darkened streets; houses and stores could be seen to hold the populace of the city who peered out with fearful eyes.

This was a city facing the final hours of a battle that would cost many lives and even more destruction, it required a man of reason and goodwill to save it from destruction, whether Tullius was that man the pensive Breton could only hope so.

They got to within the castle of solitude where Reynald expected to meet his fate for whatever it may be but then, they passed further ahead past a group of rapidly training soldiers who looked to be irregulars.

"You're really not thinking of using retirees and pups in battle are you legate" Reynald asked after observing some rough greying beards and clean but unshavin faces peaking out behind unfitted imperial helmets, the response was biting from the irate woman.

"That's none of your concern, we don't need your traitor king Ulfric knowing anymore than he does already about our force", said the legate who was understandably angry with the 'saviour' turned traitor, she was after all the very idea of a loyal imperial subject.

_Or blind _Reynald himself thought, knowing a clear difference existed between loyalty and idiocy when following a cause or leader, he'd lost enough blindly following a crumbling empire.

"So we aren't going to the castle Legate, tell me legate what's more likely; that I'll have audience with both Elisif and the general or that I'll make it back to the lines" Reynald then asked, his tone becoming notably more light as if joking with a friend, Rikke's did not falter however.

She told him "you'll present yourself to the general, worry about that only" before then turning to face the man, coming within striking distance, "what happens to you after depends on him". That said she then turned just as quickly and marched for the upcoming imperial palace; making off quick enough to get him our of earshot.

He followed in behind to the hushed looking building as two of his four accompanying imperial guards stepped off to present at the doors, the legate had easily opened the heavy doors allowing him entrance to the small waiting room that was devoid of the usual court officials and presenters.

One of the guards behind easily and equally hesitantly prodded the dragonborn as if to force him on, he didn't reprimand the surely fearful guard for the action but instead moved forward towards the short curved staircase that would allow him to face his audience.

He was then surprised to see general Tullius standing above the upraise that held the relatively compact court of the grand city of Solitude; the man was the very idea of an austere man of the legion.

Like Reynald he held none of the traits of the provinces population but was rather of a middling height, having a strong but lean build, he wore the rich deep red cloth and golden etched armour reserved for those of a generals rank while his hair was regally grey.

His scar covered hands pressed against the banister of the courtroom with his strong facial features there for the dragonborn to take in, hard and unswerving the man was the very definition of serious and taciturn.

Reynald respected him, as both an adversary and man of great loyalty and action.

He said nothing to the man however instead moving forward to pass the now at attention legate before ascending the tight staircase, as he reached the top to view the court the general had still not moved. Save for the veterans steel coloured eyes followed the dragonborn as he came within the court, behind him the legate had flanked him.

There within lay the throne room that seated the ruler of the city of Solitude and on it she sat, both bright and beautiful Elisif was known by her moniker as both a fair and firm ruler, if not inexperienced in the matters of governance; she still as Reynald last remembered her had a lithe body hidden within fine golden robes which were entwined with gorgeous jewels in distinct patterns.

Her face was as sublime as he had last remembered it, sculpted nearly to perfection of what a woman should be; golden hair laid loose on her shoulders completed the look; he certainly believed at least half of the common saying, "Ulfric among men, Elisif among women".

"My lady" he offered politely while taking in those around her court, they were all people he had became familiar with in at best a vague knowing during his previous visit, all of them had stopped to regard him with mostly cold eyes brought on from what seen was a capital act of betrayal, by the very man sent to rescue them from the greatest of perils no less.

"You should offer some measure of respect to our jarl dragonborn, it is the least you owe" Elisif's steward uttered harshly, Falk Firebeard his name. Reynald instead of rebuking the man gave a small nod and removed his helmet before bowing mid-height to the ruler of Solitude, always appreciative of a ruler being of such honest qualities.

"I have nothing but respect for Elisif the fair" he then said with a polite tone, recovering to his usual imposing stance. It was then that general Tullius turned to the man and made to round on him saying "What about the empire that has provided for your people some hundreds of years and over your many generations, something you where once a part of Reynald Manis, where is your respect for that" the general asked hotly, his usually restrained voice sounding suitably irate.

Reynald in response offered nothing but calm words, "My respect for the empire was lost the day it left Hammerfell to be slaughtered at the dominions hands, it was lost the day your empire removed Talos from the pantheon to appease the will of mer hating men that would see the whole of the empire under its boot heel; it was lost the day the sacrifices of the legions across Tamriel where ruled as naught", the words caused a stir in both Rikke and Tullius, the formers face falling slightly while the general appeared to lose even more composure.

"you don't have an inkling of what could have happened if the empire had continued on fighting, even with their armies routed they could still cripple the empire with political will alone, not to mention the reserves ready to force themselves against the capital even as the legions where counting the dead in the thousands" the general replied with a strong voice, convincing Reynald completely that he believed in the same old rhetoric, loyal to the bitter end he knew.

What end would come to the empire he could only fathom as Skyrim tore itself away, all the while with the elves looking upon the bloated beast enviously.

"I know that while the empire bent to the will of the Aldmeri the red guard of Hammerfell sent the heads of a dozen different dominion comomanders back to their little island, content to die on their feet than live on their knees", the Breton's words where filled with the steel forged by the consequences of that war and what transpired beyond, "I won't sit by and let the council send the empire to hell, province by province".

The mood in the room then darkened slightly as Tullius appeared to be reaching his limit of what he would take from someone he seen as a traitor, his jaw tightened as Rikke's hand drifted to the pommel of her sword, Reynald himself was now fixing a cold glare on the general.

Either man was fixed upon their ideals enough to live and die for them, it meant an inevitable collision that made both forget that their actions would affect all those around them; it was however saved as Elisif spoke up to break the pair from their contest.

"Must we determine the future solely on history alone, please general let us here what our guest has to say" she pleaded in always polite voice, fixing Reynald with a parting glare the general broke the contact by moving off to her side, Reynald was genuinely surprised he would hold counsel here rather than his own castle.

"I come to offer peace to both the fourth legion and the city of Solitude my lady, from the hand of Ulfric Stormcloak" Reynald stated before then pulling free the small parchment from his chest plating, gaining another glare from Tullius before he himself marched the small space forward to receive.

The general with the best education afforded by Cyrodiil's finest academy digested the note in a short few moments, he was quick to scoff at the offer however, "Ulfric expects us to just up and leave Skyrim to his band of traitors and thieves, not to mention hand over our allies, to leave you to them no less Elisif", the words were met by a look of worry for the jarl who asked her steward to take the note in also, he quickly did so.

"Why would we even consider this ridiculous offer, does Ulfric think he can have the whole of Skyrim without a single arrow being fired over our walls" Folk asked in the same mind frame as Tullius, but Reynald was quick to offer a rebuttal.

"Is that what you wish to see as steward then, pitches of oil and plague fired over the city while your protectors are cut down man to man, what else but surrender save death" he asked not just to Folk but all those he set his eyes across, Tullius with a smug face replied first.

"But is it not better to die on your feat than live on your knees" he asked, gaining the same cold glare he had shot just moments ago.

"Ulfric nor me asks for your very deities to be removed nor for you to abandon your own Tullius, he asks that you leave with your lives and never return" Reynald retorted to the self-satisfied general before turning to regard Elisif, "he asks you and your hold for allegiance jarl".

The room was silent for a moment as the lady seemed to take the idea in, while Tullius looked on at her rather than speaking out against the dragonborn, it was broke as Elisif spoke saying "This man you ask me to swear allegiance to murdered my husband, by all rights I should have you executed as the general would allow, tell me why I should not" the slight nord asked with a voice that was neither threatening nor grave, but more thoughtful and searching.

"Because you have a duty to protect your city and its people, beyond that of your own desires" the dragonborn was able to offer back quickly, then offering sympathetically "Is it not better to honour a loved one with life rather than death".

Elisif then asked just as quickly, "Would you forget the last act of a loved one slain for the good of those around you", a question he could answer easily.

"I would die a thousand deaths before I would forget the oath I swore to those I lost" was the reply, accompanied by a rueful smile that allowed her to wonder for a moment who excatly he had lost to make him utter such words.

As if queuing on from her question the door of the palace was sent nearly from its hinges by a brutal force and from that in came the both known and feared polished armour of the dominion and its Thalmor arm, as if the imperial guards meant nothing these two soldiers rushed the stairs. Legate Rikke by either caution or reflex reached for her sword but was stopped at the last moment by a strong sideward glance by her commander, Reynald moved not an inch save to look upon the pair with something bordering mirth.

"What is the meaning of this" Tullius quickly asked attempting to stamp down his authority, not calling for his guards knowing full well they would not dare attack him or the court itself, neither Thalmor answered but instead waited for the entrance of two more who while Thalmor did not wear the tell-tale armour of the mer force.

It was the ambassador to Skyrim Elenwen along with another elf Reynald yet to have the 'pleasure' of meeting, a typical looking male Altmer much her familar in the same Thalmor garb, he held the same superior smug look upon pointed features that complimented skin with a golden hue; they marched up the stairs in unison before fixing harsh eyes on the recently arrived Breton.

"What is the meaning of this general Tullius" the female elf asked in apparent rage, getting past her two on guard soldiers to come within inches of the restraint looking dragonborn, "you will pay dearly for all the Thalmor you have slain, half-race scum" her second from behind then threatened.

Reynald only gave her a small smile in response, eager to press upon her how little their threats or insults meant to him, the general interrupted before he could offer back what was sure to be an inciting remark.

"He comes here under the flag of peace ambassador, he shall not be harmed within this court while we consider what has been proposed" the general said tersely never happy to have the Thalmor in his presence due to her constant badgering and demands, she was not to be deterred so lightly though.

"This criminal had slain dozens of the dominions finest warriors, I will not allow him to not feel our retribution" she growled sounding more like a troll than a diplomat, as if they meant to enforce their desire their the two at arms Thalmor went for their blades.

Legate Rikke at their side along with two other flanking imperial soldiers prepared their weapons for general Tullius order, he would not allow control to be ceded to these Thalmor she knew.

"Back down ambassador, I won't ask again" the general ordered in his austere voice, not willing to allow any sort of violence for the moment at least, she elvin diplomat looked to dismiss him in that moment out of spite but after a moment of tense silence she motioned for her men to stay their weapons.

"I will hear what this _emissary_ has to say then, know that I will not allow anything that goes against the dominions interests" Elenwen said not satisfied, but willing to suffer him for awhile longer before she made any action.

It was hardly a surprise that she then exploded in a wrath when the terms of the surrender was heard, nor her nor the captain that accompanied her where any less than outraged at the suggestion.

"This offer is preposterous, any attempt to appease Ulfric and his stormcloaks will mean war Tullius" Elenwen then said, the warning in her voice overshadowed by the worry that the general might actually consider it; she was sure he would take any excuse to rid himself of all and any Thalmor.

"I will do nothing that will endanger the White-Gold Concordat ambassador, be sure of that" the general told her honestly much to his chagrin, for he despised the Thalmor and their dominion truly.

Reynald would make sure that the two forces would not hold the walls together however by adding more fuel to the fire so to speak, by offering them with the following option, "I was once told by the keeper of the hall of the dead that below this city in its darkest reaches there is an escape for those who could not chance the battlements".

"What are you suggesting" Tullius quickly asked, perplexed slightly like the rest of them assembled, Reynald was quick to put his ploy into motion.

"I am saying that by allowing the Thalmor to use this tunnel to escape you could satisfy all your desires general, you allow no harm to come to those that would send you into another bloody war with the dominion while saving your legion from annihilation, not to mention sparing a city filled with your most loyal of supports", his meaning was of course clear, save yourself today so that you may fight again tomorrow.

Tullius was surprised that he would suggest such a thing, though he had always suspected the dragonborn was too ambitious to follow the line completely to Ulfric's benefit, or anyone save his selfish own "why would you suggest something that would endanger Ulfric and his hold on Skyrim, I will return with my legion regardless of what this piece of paper entails" he told his opponent never being one to mix words, Reynald merely shrugged in response.

"Things are not always as they seem general, and battles and wars are not settled by the blows of one field" he replied cryptically gaining him an irate look from the imperial leader, "one who would know about such things would be our Thalmor ambassador of course", the accusation being of course almost immediately refuted.

"What do you speak off man-mer curr" Elenwen snarled, to which Reynald replied by pulling from the small hold inside his gauntlet two worn pieces of parchment, two incriminating pieces of parchment.

Both where handed to the general who took time to read them both, he just about got to the last word on the second one before all his muddled thoughts led to what counted as an explosion within the man, "you dare use this rebellion for your own gain ambassador, you dare incite and assist these stormcloak dogs to unsettle the empire" he accused in response as was justified to the papers of course, it was the Septim that Elenwen was afraid would drop on their collective heads.

"I know not of which you speak" she replied hastily, her voice almost as incriminating as it held none of her usual bite showing her culpability, Tullius would not be dismissed so easily though.

"You worked against us this whole time, to sow seeds of discontent enough to send this province in rebellion" he raged, for the first time hearing for most barking. "Does this correspond to some higher plan, what are the dominion planning" he asked her with bated breath, she seemed to slink away at the words.

"I will not stand for such words general, you wish to believe some forgings from this cretin then I will leave you to your fate" she quickly said to her opposite, "bring your guards captain" she added to her second before turning and marching out of the palace just as abruptly as they had entered, the imperial guards and house carls present having a hold on their weapons as they left.

"When one allies themselves with snakes, they tend to get bitten" Reynald said once they left, in a room now filled equally with tension and apprehension.

"It seems our list of allies grows thin" one of Elisif's courts said a moment later, an impressively talented wizard known as Sybille Stentor, she was like Reynald a breton who appeared much too young to him in their meetings despite her long service.

General Tullius ignored the comment seemingly overwhelmed by the evidence in front of him, he would have half cast doubt on the documents if not for the reaction by a usually haughty Altmer such as Elenwen, she obviously had been fretting to react in such a non-characteristic fashion.

If he surrendered he would forfeit the pact held with the dominion and surely cause more grief for the empire, tributes and political hostages would be the least expected, however if he fought bravely to his end with his entire legion and their less than honourable _allies_ then he would save the peace, at the expense of many lives.

It was a situation without any true victory it seemed, leaving him truly perplexed.

Reynald then offered him some respite saying "there has been much to take in general, perhaps I will leave you for a time to decide", he was given leave for their presences almost immediately. As he marched from the court to suffer the cold night chill he could take in the angry words of the court surrounding Elisif and Tullius, pleased that they would perhaps cut the Thalmor out of their own salvation.

He would be glad to see those smug aldmeri bastards feel the cold steel of an imperial blade once again, as they should have years ago; how it would have changed his life he wondered.

Reynald quickly took his mind from such things and instead took a calming breath to steady his slight nerves, he looked out at a moonlit Tamriel that appeared always beautiful to the man whether it be on a battlefield or the most peaceful of shrines; eager to take in the tranquality of the small respite.

He stood looking out against a backdrop of imperial soldiers at attention in the Solitude streets long darkened by an impending siege; many could not keep their eyes off the surely menacing looking armour that coated his flesh.

"A lovely night for a bloody siege don't you think" a voice asked from behind sounding both mysterious and familiar in the same measure, he turned to find the gaze of the blue palace's court wizard upon him, a breton many years his superior she still seemed to have a certain amount of mischief in her tone, while her statement alone spoke of her dark humour.

"Perhaps for the most battle hardened of nords, or blood thirsty of creatures" he replied with some humour of his own, always eager to converse with someone of his home region, "does jarl Elisif not require your council" he asked, Surprised to see an important figure not invested for such a pivotal decision.

"Not all of the bay are so vested in politics and intrigue dragonborn, I am surprised to see our finest warrior so devoted" Sybille replied with no hint of judgement in her voice, but rather that same sliver of light humour, he was then distinctly aware of how her attitude had changed from the last time they had met.

She was then very abrupt and equally dismissive, now she sought him out which to his new found fame was not something unheard off, what she wanted exactly however eluded him.

"Tell me Sybille, what it is you come to me for" he wondered aloud, eager to find her ploy while his own unravelled.

Her reply was cryptic much to his disappointment, saying "When one see's a star casting its glory, is it wrong to wish to bask in its brightness". He fixed her with a disapproving look then but accepted the statement, acquainted well with such statements from his own accompanying mage.

"So that is all, you wish to look on me as I ascend" he asked viewing himself as the aforementioned star "It will be far from the walls of Solitude that I try my hand at the empire I assure you". With that said a knowing expression crossed the wizard's face, as if something had just struck her, "You will follow in Ulfric's footsteps then and make for your own uprising, perhaps in the high reaches" she then asked.

He was as vague than her then telling her "I will provide the setting opposite for the corruption and collusion that is rampant within this beleaguered empire, my desire will envelop more than just a province and my own I assure you", for her the meaning was clear, he would aspire to be more than his supposed liege.

Her time in this land was done she knew, every step of a stormcloak boot making that a certainty in a land that would become less tolerant of other races in such positions of influence, she would follow this star to its end then she could see.

"To do what Ulfric has done then you will need the support of many, where Skyrim have headstrong nords and little else High Rock has a nation of Orcs eager for their own, the four kingdoms and twenty three realms of breton kings and viscounts all eager for power under the increasing crushed fist of Daggerfell; then there is of course the influence of the empire and their Thalmor counterparts to consider" she listed of as if he was not someone who of course was well aware of the implications of the politically charged province, he wondered just what she knew on such things however.

"You can help me in this" was the simple question, she closed the distance then between them at that moment to discount more than beleaguered imperial soldiers who would be mulling about.

"I was not always the court wizard of Solitude nor did I come here as a fresh faced apprentice, I know many people and even more secrets within our realm" she told him at a whisper, allowing him to gaze into her face and read into it, he found no shadow of deceit there in her ageless face.

"Why would you help me" he asked her again seeking the ploy if any, she was more than honest however telling "Is it wrong to wish to follow the destiny of a great warrior". With that he paused for a moment to take in her words, it was true that he had been less than eager to allow followers that did not prove themselves first for his trust.

But as his fame and power grew he found himself being trailed by all forms of followers whether they be shadowy assassins or hearty nordic warriors, he had been able to gain loyalty through swift action and legendary deeds, it was no difference in this case perhaps.

"And your duties here" he wondered, to which she told him "Ulfric will not have a breton in the ear of the person controlling the most important of Skyrim cities, my time here is done". That was enough for him then, surprised at her admission of Tullius actually signing the treaty before the Thalmor gave their last gift.

That gift being one of their more favoured, _betrayal_ of course.

She spoke again asking "so you think with a mere flickering of your tongue the thalmor will abadon the empire to their fate, truly you have a low opinion of their sort"

"I know that where good men stand and fight those elves skulk and flee, they will not die for Tullius and his empire" he promised her in return, she showed him another mirthful smile before accepting his statement.

They stood their for a longer time then, silent and observant of the stillness of the city around them and the morbid peace that currently enveloped it, Sybille spoke once again after a time saying to him "you are truly a person of many talents to pursue peace as you have done, i wonder which diety grants you favour, which prince grants you their protection", he said nothing then to that; instead giving her a small smile of knowing.

One guard who had been present before within the court came forward to them then hastily, eager to report that Tullius would have them back for decision, they without pause made for the innards of the blue palace but where then stopped as another runner came from the darkness to shout out in alert.

"Treachary" the hoarse man shouted torch in hand, with the guards lingering around Reynald and Sybille becoming flustered as he continued to close the distance, "what nonsense is this" a guard beside them shouted back.

The man didn't even bother slowing from his run as he closed the final few yards between them, nor did he stop as he made through the gap of those assembled there. Reynald and Sybille who were not at post immediately made their way inside to the court, there they at once overhead the report made by the scattered messenger.

"It's the elves general, they've escaped through some catacombs beneath the city, Legate Caesennius attempted a pursuit but he could not order them to stop without your permission" the man explained breathlessly, causing a widespread feeling of shock to spread throughout the chamber.

As the dragonborn returned with Elisif's seemingly departing court wizard the general exploded as much a man of his composure would allow, raging as the words were uttered "Damn that treacherous aldmeri, she'd have the whole empire burn while her coat tails remain unfettered, how did the legate let them get off the walls". The question made the youngish guard shifted uncomfortably.

"The Thalmor commander promised relief at the earliest conveyance, but none came so the legate enquired after awhile. We found little but an empty embassy, soon after one of the city elder came to report that the priest had been brutally interrogated by thalmor soldiers".

In the room then there was a moment of speechlessness as the general took in all that was said, with none of those around daring to break his train of thought, it lasted until Tullius could contain himself no longer as the general uttered a furious cry; as if he had a limb rendered from his body.

"We are all destined here to die yet those pointy eared bastards desert out of cowardice" was what he uttered next, causing Reynald to take a step forward into the general's line of sight.

"All is not lost Tullius, you still have the chance to save your men's lives" he said with conviction, he had seen all too well the damnable stubbornness of imperial commanders in battle before.

"Am I to surrender at the feet of Ulfric the Usurper, allow my lady Elisif to bend her knee to the man who committed the murder of her husband, do not be so quick to think I am dull witted _Reynald_" the Cyrodiil born man returned back with venom on his tongue, something the dragonborn fully expected.

"Do not be foolish with all the lives under your command Tullius, accept Ulfric's offer and survive" Reynald said with an almost pleading tone, "You can still return with your legion intact for the most, gather troops and march back for the start of spring, your death serves nothing here nor does your soldiers".

Tullius was silent for a moment as he brooded, Elisif who was always more thoughtful than outspoken took her moment wisely, she added to what her potential opponent advised saying "Please general, I admit that the idea of that man holding the throne that my husband once did pains me to my very core, but I would not wish your men's deaths".

The consensus in the room seemed to agree as her advisors and guards all intoned with agreement in their voices, the general then looked more defeated than angry.

"To lose one city to that band of rebels was bad enough, never had I thought it would come to this" he said with a weary sigh.

"general you cannot be serious" Rikke said with alarm, causing the elder man to face her with a resigned face.

"Too much has gone against us Legate, anymore death would be of my fault entirely" he told her, to which she only replied with a strong salute to show her obedience, he turned to Reynald then and momentarily seemed to harden up if only for a moment.

"When I return to take all that Ulfric has stole, I promise you that your head will rest next to his on the walls of this city" the man intoned with the gravest of voices, Reynald merely nodded tightly in response.

It was then that Elisif spoke up voicing her praise for the general's efforts throughout the war, the room taking on a very sudden deflated feel. He merely thanked her before turning off abruptly and marching for the entrance of the palace, all his guards followed leaving Reynald and Elisif alone with only her people as audience.

Each one looked on to the dragonborn with equal measure of disdain and regret, he took the time to meet each for their stares before landing on that of the newly surrendered jarls.

"I will inform Ulfric of any requests you wish to make my lady" he said as formally as he could muster, aware of the animosity she could not help but feel for him, he had delivered her into the hands of her most hated enemy.

She at that moment seemed most vulnerable, simply replying "I thank you for your kindness, but my steward will carry out that duty". He knew he was politely dismissed at that point, nothing left but the glare of her court and the downcast eyes of the jarl herself.

He turned on his heel and left then without another word, shame burning across his face as he thought about the result of his action in the court, he met the starlight sky of Tamriel knowing that one could not always leave a battlefield unscarred.

Ulfric's kingship would cost Elisif her honour, something that left a foul taste for the dragonborn as he marched for his horse at the limits of the city gates. It was not a hollow victory for him nor his chief ally Ulfric however, for soon as he would make for the camp he knew his great scheme would come into motion.

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><p>It was then that on the same day as the stormcloaks reached the city of Solitude they gained it, not by the shattering of walls and breaking of shields but by the cowardice of the Thalmor; aided by the glib tongue of the same legend that had so valiantly faced down the world eater Alduin.<p>

As sunlight rose across the lands that far and wide now belonged to Ulfric stormcloak and his victorious soldiers, the imperials that had guarded it for so long marched out under a low beat of drum having secured amnesty from a final bloody defence.

Their standard that would be held high was now torn and carved, ready to be displayed at the palace of the kings for the pleasure of the soon to be high king; many nordic families and former jarl's with too strong a tie to the imperials followed the baggage train out of the city as the stormcloaks quickly settled within.

Ulfric at all times had settled for the castle dour rather than his rightful place in the blue palace, with his dragonborn residing beside him with few of his now famed riders. Only when all was settled in the day to follow did Ulfric call all those who called the city home to assemble, his fellow stormcloaks and supporters's all coming to look upon the new heir as he took his seat within the courtyard of dour castle.

He spoke to his new people then with little more than a firm tongue, admonishing them for their steadfast support of the empire even as they allowed the Thalmor within their midst, none however would speak against the man who would now be the high king of them all and he soon retired to the roaring cheers of his soldiers and an aprehensive populace.

He would wait until all his supporters had gathered within the walls of the city before he would announce his ascension to high king, until then working to settle all that he held within his newly gained hold.

The threat of the escaping Thalmor plagued his mind even as his victory was completed however, he called his breton supporter there alone to decide the issue; Reynald had quickly came wearing a simple cloak and robe; looking more like some wide eyed college mage that mighty warrior.

They discussed the finer details of their original pact, being more than a simple swearing of oaths from one liege to a prospective underling.

"I will uphold my pact with you dragonborn and lend to you what aid you require in your efforts, not will i disband the college you hold dear" the stormcloak ruler told Reynald, assuring him of all the promises he had asked for in return for his aid.

It included everything Reynald would require in order to advance his own desires regardless of his lack of hereditary title, realm or force.

"Then I will uphold mine Ulfric, all that the Thalmor can hold against you will disappear with them to the grave" Reynald promised back, giving the newly ascended nordic king room to hope in his secret heart that none would find out his great shame.

"What of the Thalmor that disappeared beneath the city walls" he asked then, knowing that the ever resourceful breton had some daring plan that would elude most else.

Reynald gave the man only a small smile then, saying "I will make sure that Elenwen's head rests of your pike before the crown touches your head".

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><p>xxxx - Ok well that's my third chapter which i admit was not the best of the three, but i didn't feel that i could squeeze much more into it without it becoming hugely bloated, i will of course leave the judgement up to you all.<p>

I do apologise for the aburpt finishing but there will be more on Ulfric's ascension to high king and how Reynald moves forward in further chapter's so a quick wrap up seemed appropriate, thanks for reading.


	5. The Dragon & the Men Settle the Mer

Hello again, this chapter will finally settle anything that needed to be dealt with in Skyrim before moving onto bigger and better things so to speak. There won't be any new characters or plotlines added jsut yet so i expect people to find it actually quite a boring chapter but i'd appreciate it anyone who takes interest in it.

After this i'll really get things going with the main plotline which at the moment is still in line for changing as things go along so any suggestions on character focus, pairings or whatever is there to be suggested, anyway enjoy.

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><p>On the closing of the day following the surrender of Solitude and the fourth legions defeated march to the heartland; there would be a settling of affairs between two of the catalysts for the civil war that had engulfed Skyrim, it was to occur as the light from the orbiting body sank into the sky causing darkness to overtake the now liberated nord homeland.<p>

Against a flank of rough and obstructing mountains a small fortification stood; protected by sturdy wooden stakes that formed a barrier to the outside with accompanying towers and points of elevation that provided against any potential assault.

It was strong enough to dissuade raiders and savages from attempting to take the outpost; while not being enough to hold off a determined siege force, it would have then been surprising to see exactly what kind those now hemmed inside would have been akin to.

The colony was originally one of the few outcroppings of an orc presence in Skyrim that few if any had ever dealt with, save for harsh words from sentries that had a mutual distrust for outsiders. Now it held the tell-tale presence of a force that held no ties to their great city in high rock, but rather that of _Alinor _and its ilk.

Guards then patrolled the grounds of the base while sentries were posted at each tower and reasonable elevation; making it a daunting challenge save for any force with the resources to actively siege.

Or that of a single being or group who held great skill or fierce power.

Beyond the immediate walls and settled over the outcropping of rock lay such a group; with such a person in their midst, most had arrived to find the orc colony overrun by the ever violent Thalmor who had somehow managed to take the settlement with just a few fatalities.

Their harbinger and unofficial leader had arrived later only to be diverted from falling into a Thalmor trap by the guise of his lead mage, who had accurately discovered the elves concealed runes and binded traps that had been left to hamper and discourage pursuit.

Now Reynald pressed up against the incline of the obstructing rock to look upon his chief enemies' new camp and respite point, their decimation of the original occupants only served to reinforce the idea of just how skilled the dominions best were.

"Pity for Elenwen I have better" he mentioned to himself and those closely around him, with much of his small force already readying their weapons for what was to come, beside him in the same position where the two brothers Farkas and Vilkas; with his mage Aranea Lenith also present.

They were all ready in their differing forms of protection; with the nord's suited in both wolf sculpted and ancient nordic battle armour, while the female Dunmer for once was wearing a magically imbued sparkling suit of glass armour.

Reynald thought it made her look otherworldly with her dark skin contrasting against the vibrant colours of the suit, the complementing helmet only added to such a look as her glowing eyes smouldered brightly.

"Time for the wolf to catch its prey" Vilkas said in his gruff voice while noting that his fellows with their horses and weapons where all ready and rearing for battle, camp equipment and supplies had been dropped meaning their horses would be quick and nought but lightly encumbered; while riders where now sated with mead and a stomach full of salted meats.

Reynald instead of replying looked over their target with ever perceptive eyes; eager to find a weakness but finding very little, there would be but one way into this battle it seemed with no time for his usual strategies or mischief.

"Butcher's work indeed" he said then while regaining his footing and raising up off the rock that had held him for the past few watches, behind it and him held the camp the companions had managed to erect without allowing their prey wind of their presence.

It had meant cold foods and dour mead for the group of strong warriors as they awaited their charge to arrive, hardly something that would matter to such men and women when a glorious battle was to be fought.

He wanted nothing to be allowed to his enemies; so he opted to say only a few words to his men before they rode for the enemy, "I will rend the gate of this place myself so that you all may enter and begin a great slaughter, but I will caution you of these wretches with their bows and spears and the skill they exhibit". Reynald at the words pulled himself up into his saddle before adorning his ever present dragon helmet, a well trimmed spear rested on his saddle along with the great shield of their original leader.

At his saddle the blade made famous for having slain the great world eater Alduin was present, still sheathed in the depthless looking scabbard that always held it; he spoke once more saying "Follow me now my brethren and you will all be rewarded by either celebrated victory or a glorious death", his tone was strong but quieted in the cool night air and was met by the equally charged reply of a fearsome bunch.

He rode then towards their enemy with speed afforded by a steed seemingly as eager for battle as its master, the companions all keen for the clash of battle followed quickly behind at a swift pace with their spears; bows and axes ready to clash.

Reynald's own figure appeared suddenly from behind the modest outcropping that had previously obscured him meaning for a precious few seconds none of the sentries caught sight of the oncoming figure, but soon a group of sentries saw his approach and quickly alerted the settlement with an upturned flame to the sky.

Riders from the famous band then poured out after their leader as the guards let loose on him and his steed, arrows began to fall as he closed the last few lengths with his shield and an eruption of flame from his outstretched palm meaning he was unaffected by the flights.

He got within reach of the main gate and before any sentry could apply a pinpoint arrow his voice long feared erupted towards the settlement, "_**FUS RO DAH" **_as heard in the dragon tongue came fourth to tear all that ahead apart in a reckless fury.

The gates and surrounding stakes that had long kept the settlement safe where rendered useless as his utterance tore them from worn hinges and settled ground, propelling them along with the unfortunate sentries close backwards as if weightless.

Stakes and the bodies of their fellow thalmor assaulted those out of reach of the Dragonborn's fierce tongue with one unlucky guard being crushed by a rapidly swerving stake; while others where sent to oblivion by the shrieking bodies of their own comrades.

Reynald whipped up his horse then and made forward with his warriors following closely in behind, he did not wait for them but instead pulled free the spear present at his side before then using it to plunge into the chest of a unprepared soldier; while another fell victim to a swath of ice he threw forward at a further encamped group of thalmor sentries.

His spear followed the soldier downwards as he released the elf to death's embrace, following then Farkas and his brother at the head of the companions rushed the innards of the colony with axes and bow strings being tossed or pulled at startled elvin soldiers present both on the thin walls around them and inside the ground themselves.

It was meant for a frantic few moments as the elvin warriors used their superior vantage to shoot down on their opponents without much defence, but soon Reynald and the few mage's he recruited for his cause evened the balance with destruction beginning to tear down the defences around them.

Many thalmor then came against them then with spears and pikes from the inner sanctum the mines provided having placed many of their number there, guards from the walls and the surrounding mountains all moved against the companions then to surround them and rid themselves of their great curse.

Reynald himself whipped up his mount once again before rushing at the group of thalmor soldiers hastily erecting a barricade between the mines and their enemy, as he rushed forward a thalmor who had been placed on the walls leapt forward desiring to take the hasty riders head.

However with deft movement the dragonborn pulled free his blade and slashed across where his blade would surely meet his would be opponent, having over estimated his own advantage or perhaps even underestimated Reynald the dominion soldier met the golden hue of the blade as it cut free his head; while sending his headless corpse shuddering back against the weakened walls as if struck by the most staggering of magical force.

He pressed on then passing Farkas who had long since engaged on foot and then let loose a stretch of fire that made those thalmor having advanced now retreat in haste, Reynald took the time to drop down from his beast and pull free his shield.

He was not alone though for as he rushed forward and engaged two thalmor easily Vilkas who had watched him move took it upon himself to rush through the now broken up lines of battle. Long spears and pikes meant little against Reynald's nimble footwork and the nord's great blade meaning three had fallen as both men got within their guards easily.

Behind the battle was man to elf with nearly all companions having descended to fight on foot almost one to one, the thalmor having abandoned the walls save for the highest of towers and where now engaging axe and great sword with their skill in dual short blades and magicka.

Only two others had pressed behind Reynald and Vilkas as they fought through a group outnumbering them three to one, skilled as they where the thalmor where presented with the best of High Rock and Skyrim together meaning they could only hope to hold off the now attacking group of four.

Behind him the battle still raged with the companions beginning to prevail with ferocity unmatched by an enemy only having recently been defeated time and time again, engaged with two thalmor who pressed him greatly Reynald allowed the pair to press him back before surging forward with his shield crashing against the dual swords of his leftmost enemy.

He then avoided the lancing blow to his right shoulder from his other opponent before swiping forward from his left side with enough power to slash through his enemies sturdy helmet and cut deeply into the elves cheek bone within, screaming out and without the assistance of his still recoiling fellow the elf was rendered unconscious as Reynald's great shield followed to smash him into unconsciousness.

Vilkas meanwhile was pushing even more back with wild swings that where backed by unrelenting power and skill that belied his rough looking offensive, he was shown to be more than a mere muscle bound thug as when the thalmor pressed forward with their agile blades and quick footing he met them with guise and experience.

A simple adjustment to his left and pulling back of his blade was enough to lull one thalmor into pressing forward to skewer Vilkas where his face would be before his body contorted to a low right sided position; the giant nord then sent his blade forward and towards the thalmor's unprotected stomach which could not resist as the it tore through him.

The elves blades where useless having thought his opponent a sluggish butcher and soon his body was heaved up as Vilkas attempted to decapitate his vanquished opponent; he opted to rip his blade free before engaging more enemies before him.

An arrow flew over his shoulder to catch an oncoming soldier in the throat who was not daunted at his quick skewering moments before, he didn't have to turn to know a set of flame ridden eyes and golden hair would be greeting him with mirth.

"Together harbinger" he shouted to his adjoining companion; noting that the few thalmor in front had paused to consider their options if only for a moment, the reply was just as hardy from the slightly lesser man who awaited behind wide shield and a fearsome helmet.

"Until the crystal castle itself shatters" the breton intoned with a hunger, pressing forward then to push back the thalmor who appeared to note with some amount of fear that behind their immediate enemies nearly all of their number had either fallen or where captured in the dirt.

It was certain for both warrior then that they would sealed the ambassador and her cretins within this mine as a final resting place, but there was more to be had from the elves as behind the grouping an explosion of lightening and fire could be seen beside the tower that had to this point continued mostly to bombard those below with arrows.

It was great enough to send two of the close by thalmor to the ground apparently rendered to death by the closeness of the sizeable explosion of magicka before then causing the tower to sway unsteadily; it barely needed another fraction of wind before beginning to fall over into the midst of the thalmor and their pressing of enemies.

Most of the golden armoured soldiers had no time before they where crushed beneath its crushing weight, Vilkas with impressive agility had got out of reach enough so that only dust and shards caused him any measure of damage.

Reynald had been caught in the sway of the tower however and made less headway against the attack, feeling the impact as he scrambled away in sudden panic. He was laid to the dirt but had managed to evade most of the dangerous fall due to quick use of his impossibly strong shield, his senses while being almost always sharp and steady where left jarred by the partial collision.

Unsteadily he attempted to get to his feet but was then suddenly stopped as a flash of gold appeared in his vision; soon with slightly cleared senses he noted it as the shine from the now notorious dagger of a thalmor soldier.

It meant that in that moment of chaos one of his opponents had managed to get hold off his neck, willing and certainly able to end his destiny right at that moment while those around him either fought of some renewed elvin vigour or where too far to help.

He looked to see that it was the same scowl that permitted most of those within the dominion that he had the displeasure to meet, "welcome the embrace of oblivion" the elf then said with clear malice in his voice while his own arm and blade was held by a jutting edge of the tower.

Dazedly he brought up his other hand and struck the elf across the face causing nothing more than some blood spatter to throw itself from his adversary's mouth; it seemed he was for the blade only for then at the latest of breaths that an arrow would catch the soldier full in the throat causing him to rear back numbly.

Reynald watched the elf's body fall back off him onto the dirt before attempting to free his arm, it took the help of Vilkas who himself had been obstructed by the tower to free his arm however, most of those that had came with the dragonborn where now mustering around him; save for those that had fallen or who were currently injured.

A good few fell into the latter category he realised noting those who had came around him, he himself felt deadness in his shoulder and arm while his knuckles bled given he had hit the elf who wore a metal helmet.

"Your shield brother" one who had originally joined them said, a man from the reach known as Volik who held the same base characteristics as his two famed brother companions, he quickly sheathed his much revered blade which he had aptly named _Alduin's Bane_ before taking the shield on his good side.

It was not lost on many however none where about to question his ability to fight save for Aranea who quickly implored him to leave the remaining thalmor for his fit and ready warriors, "what remains of these thalmor is not worth your skill" she then said to him as if to play to his arrogance, it was hardly lost on him.

"Your wiles are best kept to our enemy rather than myself" he said to her with only a little reproach in his voice, never upset that most of her ideas where ways to keep him from risking his own head, "I can't allow myself the sort of leave that others would not expect for such a small pain" he said then speaking honestly, it was hardly something more than a break or fracture at the worst.

She was not to be denied however and pressed on, then aided by the words of his just as vocal supporter Farkas who said "I will finish of the elves and this lot you've crowded together will help me, no need to send a troll hunter to slaughter a calf", with that said Reynald consented to loosen his shield and take a place some distance back as Farkas with a few of their choice number made their way into the mines that seemingly held the last of the thalmor.

As the doors where pulled open on either side by the strength of the two brothers a trio of arrows came fourth along with flames and bolts of lightening to strike down a pair of the companions who where caught in unprotected areas.

Then the thalmor rushed forward in a reduced number to fight the eager companions in a more enclosed space, as if to make their broad swords and heavy axes count for less. Reynald and some others who were too weakened to fight watched as their companions rushed into a smoke and ash filled mine entrance; against elves who now wielded long spears and light shields to count against the nord's own axes and claymores.

It was no longer the skilful blade play allowed by open ground and a spacing of combatants but now thick; frantic congested battling that valued strength and grit over grace and dexterity. If not for the thalmor and their destruction magic then surely the companions would quickly prevail, scalding flames and staggering flashes of white scorching magicka preventing any such advantage.

Without thinking Reynald took a few flight steps forward while flexing his injured limb to test it's resolve, Aranea who had not entered the congested melee held out a hand to caution him saying "I will use my magic in your place champion" and then with that she rushed ahead and then narrowly avoided a thrown blade that had hooked past a currently under siege companion, his shield struggling back against one thalmor who was pouring all her power into a brutal lightening surge.

The nimble dark elf quickly settled in behind the ranks before conjuring up a swirling violet vortex; casting it with practiced skill behind the ranks of the thalmor, the effect was both immediate and monstrous as an ice beast was dragged fourth from the void of oblivion.

Standing tall even past that of the most imposing elf or nord the beast was both faceless and without mercy; grabbing the nearest thalmor before ruthlessly slamming the elves body into the adjoining wall causing bones to crack with a sickening thud, blood began to pump from the first victim as another thalmor was grabbed and again sent hurtling behind to slam into the far wall breaking her neck.

By then two more defending thalmor turned and found the frost atronach reaching for a third victim but they reacted with flames that made the elemental rear back in fury and pain, one rushed forward to summon a great fireball that caused the being to explode in a shockwave of ice and frost; it was enough for the companions to break their resolute defence then.

"No mercy" one nord shouted while driving his blade through a thalmor's exposed arm to send the elf screeching in pain; before then finishing off with a gauntleted fist to the professional soldiers throat.

"No prisoners" another shouted as the elves where almost completely overcome by chaos at their flank; himself butchering a prone elf that had his knees taken away by a brutal axe blow, the few remaining thalmor retreated further into the mine but they would not get there unhindered.

Aela who to this moment had taken up an archer's role rushed through the midst of the more brawny companions to fix an arrow through the nearest thalmor's back before quickly pulling free a throwing blade; then sending it through another retreating elves back.

They all rushed on then to corner and finish of their great bane, Reynald stalked in behind with Aranea moving in behind him, the shouts and screams could be heard as they rounded corners already traversed by their advancing brethren, all that was found inside the mines was bodies of orc workers and youths of varying ages who looked to have been caught suddenly by the thalmor force.

It all stopped suddenly however as Reynald marched round the final alcove of the mines to view his group halted before something undetermined, he ushered them all aside and got to the head of the group noting the pungent smell of exertion and death with distaste.

There stood Elenwen alone without her accompanying captain, or the any of remaining blood soaked thalmor soldiers who had retreated; at her feet where two orcish youths who appeared to have been tortured if the pools of blood and vicious slashes across their body were anything to go by.

"Not running with the rest of your thalmor dogs Elenwen" the dragonborn asked then with surprise, not oblivious to the rock behind her holding a recently used escape tunnel; the outline of the unsettled rock and lack of dust present.

She was defiant then as ever he had seen her; face holding the seemingly permanent scowl he had come to expect form her as all their precious plans and designs unfurled around them, "I fear neither you nor your pack of savages, the dominion will make sure you pay for all the harm you have caused man-mer cur" she told him honestly but with great hardness in her voice, face unflinching as he took a threatening step forward then.

Her hand sparked with flames provided by her natural affinity for such things; causing her robes to be caught up if only slightly, "Do not come closer or you'll have nothing to bring back to Ulfric as a trophy, that is why you have hunted me so is it not" she asked then, to which he nodded giving that much away.

She seemed pleased with herself then despite her situation, thinking back on all the things she had done to the man who has ousted her and her imperial allies from the province "tell me dragonborn; do you know of Ulfric's great secret, why he yearns for my head so completely", he of course did and once again nodded with a small smile on his face, she seemed less pleased then.

"I hold no judge over any man who has rid his people of your filth or your imperial puppets" Reynald told her then, denying that last moment of smug triumph she so wished for. "Your secrets will go to your grave with you, followed by your evil race". Then he snapped into action ignoring the plan it caused throughout his side, summoning the guttural sounding words from his throat to send her off balance.

"_**FUS RO**_" He said then in the ancient tongue known only to a few, sending the thalmor ambassador slamming back against the hidden door behind her. The now battered Aldmeri was quickly set upon by two of the brawny nord's who where ready behind Reynald; both men tussling her into rope so that she was completely helpless and at the mercy of her great bane.

The dragonborn who had imagined such a moment since the first time he looked upon this cruel being took a knee to see her scowling face; all caught up in anger knowing that he had beaten her almost from the onset, "It was noble for you to stay behind and allow your soldiers to escape, certainly more brave than I would expect of one such as you Elenwen" he stated in a voice bereft of any compliment before continuing "but I have in my company the best of all the hunters in Skyrim; who will hunt them to those hidden forts you have taken within my people's homeland".

He pattered her head then in jest then and regarded her with cold eyes but a look of mirth on his face, she merely shot him a glare which only further induced her into a state of helplessness, Aela who had taken to the side appeared beside him with her body bereft of armour and much else save a pack and her fine bow.

"I will send word at the height of seed's end by way of white reach path; following three flames directed towards the night sky" Aela said beneath what little of her modesty that remained, Reynald consented to her leave then meaning the escape tunnel was then opened and in moments she was nowhere to be seen.

The rest of the companions only began to wind down then from the short but bloody battle, back slaps and complements began to flow as two of them began to drag away the thalmor ambassador on Reynald's orders, they all began to retreat back outside then to settle affairs and make back the short trip to the chief city of Solitude.

"short and bloody, what else can you ask for" Vilkas said, the only one to stay behind with Reynald as the rest made off, while the breton had stayed to look upon the two orc's who had been brutally tortured.

"Less dead orc's and more dead Aldmeri" was the simple reply, before Reynald turned and made for the entrance to the mine himself.

Vilkas merely shrugged in response as a man of a family between just him and his brother; never would he understand the breton's pain until someone was foolish enough to take Farkas from him.

"Some odds" he thought moving while folding in behind his harbinger.

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><p>Solitude much like it had been in the weeks before the siege was devoid of the ugly signs of a desperate struggle; that would have overtook the city had the <em>saviour of Skyrim<em> not intervened to make peace and surrender between the factions vying for control. Instead the city was filled with all pomp and circumstance as Ulfric stormcloak; reputed rebel and traitor was due to take the throne of Skyrim in order to unify all nine holds under himself as high king.

Banners and flyers along with family crests where present across the breadth of the unique cities castle complex as it was prepared for the ascension of the murderer turned heir, a general amnesty had accompanied the crowning meaning the cities villains and brigands were forced out into the service of the stormcloak army even as jarl's and noble men from across the province heeded their new liege lords call.

It was on the first day of sun's height that all had assembled within the courtyard of castle dour to witness the ceremony that many could remember only a few years prior for the now sovngarde bound high king Torygg.

A grand platform had been built for the thrones of both the high king and his chosen jarl of the city; along with the eight other ceremonial seats of dignity for the jarls of the other eight holds to be seated upon.

At the apex of the platform where the many different tall banners of the nine different holds; all dwarfed by the chosen family crest of the to be crowned high king himself, it having been chosen by Ulfric in difference to his own families struggles against the elves.

_Since the days of the first man_ he had said tracing his lineage back to the first days of man.

The courtyard had soon become full on the day then as eager noblemen and warriors of renown were keen to show there support for their new leader, with many of the crowd being those who had before shown full support for the now ejected imperial force who had held the city in the years previous.

It was not time for old prejudices the leader of the now liberated Skyrim knew, as he welcomed all to offer their support as the province rebuilt. It was not long into the day before he was announced by way of crier; a small procession following him as he slowly led from the palace of the city.

He was wearing robes fit for the most important of standings within the realm of nord's; all fine silks and gold sown in to create a piece of finery that a lifelong soldier such as Ulfric seemed surpisenly comfortable in, no crown rested on his head but instead the jewels of his family and place as jarl of Windhelm.

Beside him walked the beautiful jarl of Solitude who herself looked to be worth the entirety of the cities treasury with her gold hair framed by the crown her title commanded, while a light equally sparkling emerald robe covered her lithe frame.

Guards garbed in both Solitude and Stormcloak colours gave the guard of honour while behind the most prominent of the pair did Ulfric's most important supports march, Galmar Stone-Fist was one who even himself looked not out of place in some regal looking nord furs and rich crimson attire; while the other was none other than Skyrim's dragonborn and saviour.

The breton looked very much like one of his own isle then; perhaps even elvin with his supple frame being clothed in light cerulean robes; while his usually coarse hair was drawn back with a sparkling gold; sapphire jewelled circlet.

A number of handmaidens and aids followed them as they came to reach the platform; any words surely drowned out by the cheers of a crowd that seemed genuine in their praise of the collection. The jarl's had already took their seat save for Ulfric's own vacant seat which would remain so, his chief supports had taken up position at the right side of his throne while Elisif's less reputed steward and thanes did so on her left.

It was then that with all the holds represented and consenting that Ulfric stood from his position and stood forward to receive his rights as high king, the actual crown being present on a small hold at the forefront of the platform. A cry erupted from the crowd in cheers and applause before he settled them with a small upturning of his hand, it was not time yet to applaud he thought as the crier turned to his liege.

This man who had carried out the ritual once before then began to recite all the rituals and readings on which the position of high king was set upon, whereas Ulfric was presented with the decrees and crown of the noblest of stations within the realm.

He then took his seat and faced the south as all nordic rulers had done so in the many years since the first high king, before receiving the salutes and felicitations of all his jarl's and chief surdordinates. All jarl's that had already been replaced through battle where retained in their positions while Galmar Stone-Fist was given the title of executor and chief general amongst the stormcloak's leaders.

Elisif the fair through whatever pact between agreed between her ruler retained her title as jarl of Solitude meaning she was chief among Ulfric's supporters in the holds, Reynald himself was given the newly formed title of _Protector of Skyrim _and _General who Subdues the West_ in difference to his support for Ulfric during the war; along with his defeat of Alduin.

The celebrations then began as the populace of the city rejoiced along with those present from the other holds, through simple need to release stress or a genuine relief at the province now being renewed whole by the efforts of their new high king and protector in the civil war.

It continued for a time before Ulfric chose to speak to his people, the crowd silencing as he made for the forefront of the platform before then unfurling a piece of rich paper that he had written his words unto.

It was then he spoke saying "_I Ulfric Stormcloak, while of no great talent nor desire sought to assist the empire of which I was a part, to drive back the elvin menace that had cost so many of our allies there lives in the heartland of Cyrodiil and the far Redguard lands of Hammerfell._

"_Yet it was seemingly all for naught as many who had fought and died beside me where disregarded by a fearful Elder Council, who like their emperor would rather be subservient to the hateful and vengeful Aldmeri Dominion than fight like so many had for freedom. _

"_It would come of great cost to me and my family like so many others that such a thing was occur, as my own father like many brothers would fall to the hands of the empires chief ally the Thalmor. It was then that I decided that I would take up arms against this shell of the ideal we all once held in our hearts._

"_Only after so many had sacrificed there lives on both sides of the conflict could a resolution be made for the future of this great realm and it's people, one that thank Talos would mean the end of the elves hands in the lives of the great nordic people. _

_I call on all of you now and those in every hold to forget old prejudices and work towards a better, unified future devoid of the empires corruption; and their vile allies schemes, I Ulfric Stormcloak pledge to make these lands the very bastion of men within Tamriel, and if I fail to do so then may Talos strike me down. _

When the now high king finished the speech he was met by an explosion of applause that seemed to shake the stone beneath their feet, giving all involved in the inception of his grand design a great thrill at his new era of ruling.

The celebrations then took full swing as the city was engulfed in a festive atmosphere, nearly all would continue on well into the night save for those most important; as Ulfric would call his council as his subjects had their party.

It was inside castle dour that Ulfric and his chief supports gathered, including the remaining jarl of the city along with his dragonborn; his newest chief general Galmar and his most vocal of jarl supporters Vignar Gray-Mane.

These four were those who where the most trusted or relevant to the discussions, it was that of the Dragonborn's plans beyond the now settled Skyrim of which all were eager to hear. When his plans where divulged however it seemed less than pleasing to the entirety of the small grouping, with Vignar firstly saying "You must be mad, even you cannot carry out such a mad gambit" in his shrill voice.

Reynald was as always dismissive of the old stormcloak advocate then replying "You know not of which you speak; nor should you dismiss my plans so easily, it was not so long ago that your high king was held as a traitor to Skyrim", this view was not shared by the aged man it seemed as he snorted derisively.

"You speak wrongly dragonborn; for when Ulfric slew Torygg he was already jarl of Winterhold and had the support of all of those within his hold, not to speak of the support his views held across the nine provinces" Vignar argued back clearly not impressed with Reynald's reasoning, it was something of course the breton could agree with to a point.

He held no such titles and would be to any who remembered him just as a promising bookish scholar who had been forced into the legion after some impropriety, unlike Ulfric who at one point had been of the nine most important men in the empire; behind the high king of course.

"your words hold some truth jarl but titles and there important are entirely different within High Rock, for it takes only a keen mind and the littlest of times to acquire one if a person is bold; or crafty enough" Reynald told them then, referencing the somewhat correct type casting of breton's as been politically charged animals. "I may not hold the same advantage but I will soon ensnare a following of my own, the support of Skyrim and the unrest within the realm will make sure of that". Yet more mumbling and doubting followed from the cynical jarl.

Ulfric who had been until then silent spoke up asking the obvious question, "how do you plan to acquire a city or force if you hold no hereditary title or claim, your powers are great dragonborn but your following is few; any great helping of my soldiers will only be seen as an invasion then also", something Reynald was well aware of but nonetheless undeterred.

He replied in a passionate tone saying "You speak with reason when you ask such questions, however you must understand Ulfric that High Rock will care less for such things as the very fabric of the realm is in balance" he then went on to explain the different reasoning's he held for his staunch belief of success.

"The province is split up into different factions and mindsets all struggling against one another; so that no viceroy nor city officer hold the same opinion even if they are but a few lengths' apart, Daggerfall is the most prominent of the kingdoms yet it holds most of it's neighbours and subjects resentment alike, using the influence of their imperial masters and thalmor to deter any of their viceroys from acting without the interest of their own".

"Meanwhile Wayrest still holds all the resentment of an empire who allowed them to be attacked so harshly by corsairs and pirates, while the orcs are resentful of anyone beyond their walls following the Mede family's harsh treatment, it is a land filled with division"

"A land ready for conquering then" Ulfric finished for him, seeming to follow his line of thinking now and if not more than a little convinced, Elisif who held the belief of the empire to her heart objected however, "How can you think to upset the balance of the empire when it faces its most dire of straits, are you not meant to provide for it's salvation dragonborn" she asked voice sounding decidedly weak.

"In order to cure a disease one must provide a poison in small measure to upset the run of the venom, only then can it be truly drained from the body" he replied with words more akin to a healer than warrior, "the thalmor and the elder council are a poison throughout the empire, more than able to kill the entirety of the empire itself if given the chance".

"So you will cause more destruction in the provinces, destroy more legions and upset the very balance of the empire all to cure it" Elisif then asked as if he was mad to the core, he replied with a measured affirmation not willing to trade words with one he respected; but at the same time held as naïve to the way of things.

"It'll cause the empire far more trouble that they can handle if the dragonborn is half as successful as he thinks he'll be Ulfric" Galmar said interceding another cross word from Elisif, himself only thinking of the time it would give Skyrim if High Rock did become torn like Skyrim, "better to keep them occupied".

Ulfric like Vignar agreed if at most they thought the vague plans of the powerful warrior to be hopeful at best, with Ulfric promising aid "All across the lands of the reach and from the forges and treasury of Markarth itself", Elisif then seemed to grow weary of such words and promising of more wars for she quickly departed in haste leaving only the men to remain.

"Are you sure she won't attempt to warn the council Ulfric" Galmar asked then; always the pessimist, it took Ulfric a moment to think before replying in her favour, "I do not think her a traitor to any once she has swore an oath".

It left only the outline of details then for Reynald's departure and the beginning of his own gambit for power, he was soon to be found with plentiful help as Ulfric greatly rejoiced knowing the most hated of thalmor within Skyrim had arrived at is gates; along with the many honoured dead of the companions.

"Her head will be on a pike by midday" Ulfric told them then before they settled in; turning to Reynald then and promising "You will be on your way within nightfall then dragonborn, and only Talos will be truly able to aid you then".

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><p>Eh well anyone who read that will probadly be able to tell that is wasn't the best chapter so far, but to be honest i didn't really think there was much in it save the resolution of Elenwen's fate and wrapping up Solitude, i'll promise a more defined chapter enxt time round which is why this one was out so early.<p>

Getting it out of the way etc, anyway i hope you enjoyed in what way you all could and i'll keep updating, thanks for your thoughts.


	6. The Kingdom's of the Northern Reach

Ok hello to anyone who is still following this story, this chapter will follow along into High Rock and begin the main part of the story i'm aiming to create. It'll be showing the more abstract narrative i'm looking to put across for a good proportion of the story so i'm interested in hearing reviews on this, which is why i've clipped this chapter with the poorish cut off/cliff hanger.

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><p>By the end of Sun's Height<em> 4E 200 <em>the defeat of the fourth legion and slaughter of the thalmor contingent had become widespread knowledge to all within the differing provinces of Tamriel, with the tale of the broken legion of the imperial hero Tullius becoming legend to many.

He had arrived to an imperial city engulfed by the schemes of the elder council and the many differing commanders of the imperial legion, still without neither regent nor a controlling commandant the city was plagued by infighting and ploys daily.

It fell on the mid week of Hearthfire that the most powerful of the elder council numbering ten in all completed a secret concordat to put themselves in favour of the small imperial guardianship and their charges, the child heir's of Titus Mede II.

Many gifts of rare jewels; fine dancing women and priceless artefacts where sent by way of emissary to cajole the oldest youth who had taken his father's honoured name making him Titus the third, being of great tastes and a desire for all things fine the youth was easily seduced by the offers of the councillors; so that he was swayed to lending them his support.

Now in favour by the boy emperor and thereby lent his name the power of the group waxed fierce, Orthus Vantus their most influential member received the post of chancellor while three of their others where made generals to combat the power of the army.

Any officer who had helped in the Great War from the highest of generals to the lowliest of captains was subject to the councillor's demands for presents, and if these were not forthcoming they would be quickly removed from office, while on the other hand trusted subjects and the councillors themselves received the highest honours and rewards.

Even the heroic generals Decianus and Joanna fell victim to the court intrigues and where removed from their commands, while all ten councillors where ennobled and lent further power and command. The government grew worse and worse so that all the people seemed irritated; and soon there was open rebellion in the far holds of the empire that cut along Morrowind.

General Tullius who was then remaining solely due to the crown prince's remembrance of his father's love for his premier commander was dispatched to settle the citizens who had taken up arms against the faltering empire, he was given no support save for the battered remnants of his own fourth legion making it a doomed campaign.

The loss of Skyrim was only skirted around as the ten councillors soaked up the power left by the death of Titus the second; and more than a month passed before one government official spoke up to the prince who had been feasting with the court and his ten in the palace gardens.

"My honourable heir, how can you feast and joke as the empire is within its great peril" Lleren Gidan a Dunmer official asked with expressed concern, he like so many others scornful of the chief usurpers.

But Titus the third was nothing but relaxed replying with a gleeful smile, "All is well within the province and soon Tullius will return to smite these nordic rabble, where is anything wrong"

The dutiful official was insistent however then saying "Robbers and thieves plunder on all sides while the provinces are in open rebellion, and it is the entire fault of these ten who oppress the loyal and much suffering people of the land. If you continue to place your trust within these vile creatures then all of the empire will be lost".

At this the ten officials all became incensed at the official and began to revile him, and a great war of words and slander began to erupt across the gardens, but the prince quickly interceded however and soothed his ten; before turning on the Dunmer official with a fury.

"You have servants yet you cannot bear mine, and only really do you covet the difference I have shown to my faithful councillors" and thereupon the Titus called for the minister to be ejected from the court and his duties, with none being able to remonstrate so that Lleren was sent back to his home province with only a pittance; even after his many years of dutiful service to the empire.

This sort of thing carried on until the reckoning of Skyrim's collapse was felt; as disturbing reports where heard of thalmor movement within the provinces that adjoined the imperials own while their own chief ambassador became elusive.

Many of those opposed to the councillors then argued for the return of general Tullius and his empowerment with the aid of an additional legions, however the ten were quick witted and sly tongued so that they convinced their prince to empower others to the task.

The man they selected was the brother of Titus the late emperor's favourite concubine, a woman who had bore the second son to the deceased emperor who was second only to his own brother and the heir apparent. He was called Helvius Varrus and had held a high post in the army due to his sisters own connection to the emperor, having no real great zeal or talent himself; being from a lowly family of armourers originally.

"He is a man of lax morals and no real loyalty, to be easily controlled and influenced" one of the ten said, so that Helvius was placed into power with the superficial title of regent to match the chancellors control.

He quickly settled his legions in positions of strategic importance so that the thalmor settled their own armies, seemingly not willing to chance another invasion and then opening up diplomatic channels with the empire's new controlling party.

Little did the council of ten and heir realise that the dominion wished to unsettle and divide the empire before finishing what they started long ago.

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><p>It was then at the beginning of the new year <em>4E 201 <em>in the month of Morning Star that they great hero of Skyrim returned to his ancestral homeland of High Rock; having spent his remaining time in the first man settled homeland approving plans; gaining confidants and people of renown in order to make good on his ambition.

His party numbered no more than four dozen on first entrance to the border that separated the nordic border from that of High Rock and it's many kingdoms, it being well remembered by the dragonborn that it had been on white reach pass that he had been first captured by the imperial party that had almost managed to have his head.

It was a place of thick foliage and wooden areas that made ambushes common place by daring bandits; or imperials lying in wait for enemies of their commanding figures. Reynald fell into both camps seemingly yet he was unmolested as his group passed beyond the hold of Ulfric's diligent soldiers who held the passes with strict watch.

Then he and his companions set up camp within the high rises of the reaches winding mountains and hills to obscure them from discovery by any passing force, it was there that he drew in the many scouts and agents he had sent to local towns and far away cities to gauge the mood of the province.

Those that came within the first week where Sybille Stentor and another agent of his that was known only to him as Moor, both being local breton which left them without the doubt caused by a foreign person; while both where well induced into the land so that they knew much of the land and it's many kingdoms.

Sybille reported first with a proficiency that seemed neither undaunted by long travel nor the cloak and dagger work Reynald had instructed her to carry out; instead rather she was eager only to report her findings on the northern most kingdoms of the province.

"The Kingdoms of both Jehanna and Farrun hold allegiance to Wayrest and there queen Carolyna, yet they are resentful of her harsh rule and increasing demands of tribute to rebuild Wayrest's capital city; it having been destroyed some years before due to the negligence of the imperial fleet" The lissom woman stated, causing surprise in Reynald.

"I heard much of the destruction of Wayrest and the loss of its king, but I thought Carolyna was the most gentle and kind of rulers" Reynald asked, patching the words together from fragmented news he had received during his tenure in the legion and else he divulged before his exile.

"Indeed she was; until the imperials allowed a Corsair fleet to burn her city and slaughter her extended family along with it, it owed to her husbands refusal to leave Hammerfell to the thalmor as he had been a close friend of the Redguard royalists" she then informed him, gaining a thoughtful look from the dragonborn who attempted to divulge a plan from such information.

It was interceded by his agent Moor; a man of veiled history who was as jagged looking as the cowl and tarnished robes that covered him, "It fits with what I have managed to weed out of my lot in those same cities, she allows thalmor agents and imperial garrisons all the same to press into her subjects lands to root out dissent; if only they provide her with prisoners for work and gold for artisans"

Sybille spoke then quickly after saying "It would appear that your thoughts are correct on the province, many could be coerced to rebel if only given the right motivations and assurances". She of course spoke of the many gifts and aid Ulfric had presented his ally with in his efforts, including many carts full of simple soldiering supplies but not limited to just that.

Carts also included many precious stones and jewels; along with unstained bars of expensive metals and Septim's that would be enough for those of expensive tastes and low morals, he would use them to cajole figures of importance into his service while his soldiers would follow in force if needed.

"How best to gather support for my cause then" he asked his pair of rooks, both joining him in a wide tent erected beneath a strong outcropping of rock and upturned wooden pike, each had ideas aplenty.

Sybille wagered her idea first saying "I have been a close ally of Jehanna for many years; and my own distant relative has the ear of the king so that she may help us gain his support, she tells me that the king's chief confidant and commander of his guard is a man of vice and expensive taste".

"So provide him with wealth to turn his head for me" Reynald finished for her, musing that it was a simple but effective plan, "To what end could you trust this relation of yours" he asked then; to which she replied easily.

"We are like sisters and have the closest of minds, there is nothing that we do not hold close with each other" she promised, so then Reynald her gifts for their prospective conspirators.

Moor was next ploy telling Reynald "I have for many years been acquainted myself with the leader of the cities criminals and thieves, he could be convinced to spread favourable rumours among the lower classes to your favour in order to cause unrest if needed". This ploy also seeming good was approved and moor with a purse of enough to allow one to retire in excess was sent off to work his wiles.

It left Reynald then to ponder the next move for his force and how best to enlist the aid of the common people and braves outside of the cities, as they were all but forgotten by the royal types and imperials when no wars where to be fought.

He was given an idea by the departing Sybille who imparted another ruse of hers, "your possessions while enough for some petty bribery are not enough to do anything with; however there is local lord of some renown, who values virtue over wealth, why not seek his aid so that he may help us".

At once Reynald sent of a runner to contact the wealthy lord Aelwin to seek his aid; who on receiving the summons of the famed hero made his way to the small camp for a feast.

The feast while small and coarse was marshalled with hearty tales and much boisterous behaviour so that the wealthy lord was enticed to aid Reynald; who then made a speech to his audience.

The speech went as follows, "The empire has lost its leadership; and the elder council reigns with unchecked tyranny. The son's of the late emperor are mere whelps who are led astray by these ten councillors and the people are all but forgotten, I would restore this great realm of men but my means are inefficient. Sir, I would appeal to your sense of properity to the empire that has provided for us all in darker times."

Lord Aelwin; being impressed by his host's countenance and the strength of his followers replied saying "I too am disgraced by the flouting of imperial power by the council and long have desired for them to be removed from their positions, yet I have never found a person who shared my resolve, you sir by your deeds and strength of your following allow me the belief that you could cause a popular following; and I will devote all I have to your cause".

This was all Reynald wanted to hear; and a call to arms was prepared by the lord Aelwin who sent it far across the northern reach. Reynald with his small following then moved onto the main expanse of their new ally's lands and set up a recruitment corps; covering the length and width of the estate with banners inscribed with the words **_'Dragonborn'_** and **_'Champion of Tamriel'_ **inscribed upon them.

The response was rapid among the nordic population of the nearby towns and villages who were drawn to the famed companions and their dragonborn leader; as well as the breton peasantry and those of the men at arms classe within the outlying settlements.

One day two men of some local renown arrived; these being Ulrich Jastal from the kingdom Farrun and another Kastus Desele from the far away land of Daggerfall who where appointed as trainers by Reynald. Then there was the arrival of one Detritus Othrok from the old barony of Dwynnen; who had an ancestor in the famed Baron Othrok of old, he had been a famed pupil of the kingdoms fabled fighting school but had committed murder when one spoke ill of his master at arms. He had fled from the land then and was in exile with a number of brigands.

He brought with him these men who where led by a man Uccaren; who had taken the name of Othrok as if they where of the same family, days after that one other came with a following of two hundred who went by the name of Roland Galien; all of them fine horsemen and trained in the use of arms.

Reynald quickly put his assortment of men at arms and warriors to drill while lord Aelwin spent all his wealth; buying clothing and armour along with flags and great banners, and from all sides grain began to pour in as tribute to lord Aelwin's dignity with the local people.

It took to the beginning of Sun's Dawn for the force to gain some semblance of order; with those of a nord background who could ride being absorbed into Reynald's own companions, while the others where settled into formations of spear and pike; along with an archer band to support.

All this was passed on to the ruler of the land in where the assembly was being prepared; who was king Hastrel of Jehanna, he quickly called all his supporters and guard officers to court to discuss the sudden occurrence of the 'dragonborn' army that had been accompanied by an open proclamation.

"_The dragonborn Reynald Manis and his fighting force; moved by duty to the people afflicted by the mismanagement of the empire now make a proclamation. The elder council who have long defied the now deceased emperor and made a mockery of his court are a plague; eager to destroy everything built by the glory of the Septim's that has been forgotten since the Mede families ascent."_

"_They destroy the state and injure the people while the gluttonous heir's of Titus the 2__nd__ watch on; knowing nothing of their affected citizens. Now I Reynald Manis have issued a call to all those who wish to reduce these arch rebels to stand beside me and fight to cleanse the empire. I will raise a volunteer army and exert all my efforts to restore the empire and secure the people, respond to this any of virtuous intent by mustering yourself and your fellows". _

"This Reynald really does think a lot of himself" the king said, "yet I have heard many tales of him slaying dragons and even turning around general Tullius and his entire fourth legion, now he has an army at his side and surely means some ill will against my kingdom" Hastrel surmised, only to be interceded by his court wizard Lisette, who argued against this saying "This man seems to want only the best for the people of the empire and it's realms; and harbours only ill will against the elder council that is so rightly reviled, why not gain his friendship so that we avoid his attention".

This was a view shared by his captain at arms who had been bought by Reynald, but was not so honour bound to serve his true interests; a man that went by the name of Lazare Gestor who said "He has managed to gain the aid of all the free men within the outlying lands of the kingdom and some beyond, meaning he could quite easily put us under a desperate siege if so inclined", the argument was not well received by the king however who was an old warrior and of an arrogant character so that he would not simply bow to the whims of Reynald.

He argued "How can I facilitate this man who has been in league with the rebels of Skyrim, it would be to invite disaster on my own house, no rather I think not", and then his chief officer stood in closer to his liege and said "Why not play the game of the co-conspirator for now and invite this Reynald Manis to a feast; so that he will believe our intentions are true and leave his force beyond the walls".

Then Lisette herself; who had her own guise lent in to the discussions offering, "I could prepare drugs that added to their drinks would render this man and his party unconscious, allowing you to capture him and so give great service to the queen and the empire".

This suggestion seemed good to a man of great pride and eager for more glory such as king Hastrel who quickly took this idea on as a set plan, allowing his court steward to send of a note of welcome to the dragonborn.

Lisette intercepted the courier however and bade the man give another letter along with the note with the steward, paying him greatly to keep it as a secret. In short time he rode to the grounds of lord Aelwin's estate and delivered both documents, as per the instruction of the note given by Lisette he was rewarded even further so that he did not say a thing on his return journey.

The document from king Hastrel was quickly discarded in relation to Lisette's warning; which told of the king's plan and the master at arms veiled betrayal, nearly all of his leaders both old and new advised for a siege immediately.

Reynald had another plan however that he believed could deliver him the city without the bloodshed of a siege, when asked about the details he merely gave them individual instructions one by one hidden behind a wry smile.

What he proposed would not be revealed until the day of first seed as his force marched off for the walls of Jehanna.


	7. Settling the Kingdom of Jehanna

Allright well here is another chapter to those of you liking the story so far, i'd like to point out that due to some excellent feedback from one reviewer that this story while centered around the dragonborn will also be more of a wide, plot based story.

By that i mean that what is going on will not always be focused on the dragonborn and instead centered around general story telling itself, he will of course be the main character and pivotal plot point but don't expect the chapter's to revolve around his feelings and character development.

What i mean to say is that the first few chapter's where there to show him and his intentions, a glimspe of why he is so driven agaisnt the dominion and why he wishes to reunite the empire. There will be of course more plot and invovlement of his past but it will be tempered by an advancing plot, again i welcome more critics on my story and how it can improve, etc etc.

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><p>In the wake of king Hastrel's invitation the newly formed force that belonged to the Dragonborn made for the city of Jehanna when all were ready and drilled, they moved through the deep forests and outcroppings of mountains in four brigades which where Reynald's own vanguard, two main bodies of some hundreds and a smaller force to support the rear.<p>

He had managed to assemble such a force in such short time in part to his rapidly spreading legend and the righteousness that his banner presented, but he could hardly doubt that it had been owed much to the quality of those he had chosen as leaders and instructors; not to mention the popular support he received from outlying towns and settlements.

It seemed he had the same idea as those of little power but of a great majority within the outer regions of High Rock, while his force moved in such a fashion to oppose any idea the haughty king of Jehanna who surely did not. It soon became clear through scout parties that he would not face the small standing army of the city outright; instead facing the baseless assassination attempt by king Hastrel instead.

The army then dispersed into smaller patterns here and there as if to appear haphazard and mislead and soon they got within reach of Jehanna, as ordered this was quickly related to the king who came to view his victim's force with curiosity; who was greatly pleased by what he saw.

"This halfwit brings this rabble against my high walls; he will be nothing but a brave corpse by night fall" the aged king said to those around him, despising his seemingly unwitting opponent.

Reynald meanwhile cut the figure of a strong being at the head of his cavalry force, those around him where the hardy warriors of Skyrim and those select from his new allies who had proven themselves skilled enough to join the elite force. His new man Detritus Othrok was one who had particularly impressed the Dragonborn; with his tenacity in battle being matched well by his equally quick tongue.

"I have heard of this king Hastrel; he thinks himself a great warrior and yet he was but a reserve in the Great War, pitiful" Detritus Othrok said continuing on with the same proud tone Reynald had come to expect from the man; owing to his own personal skill in swordplay and his seeming ability to lead.

The Dragonborn meanwhile just looked upon the walls of the city with some awe; it was like many of the cities of High Rock surrounded by thick walls that could withstand the heaviest of stone thrower barrages, and had high towers that would allow defenders vantage across the entire field.

It didn't even need to be said about the majesty this sort of fortification invoked around one's domain, Reynald as a young child could remember bombarding his father with incessant questions as to why they couldn't live within the walls of their own king's hold.

It would be a great bastion for his own force if needed against the residing imperial garrison and local kings and their subservient liege lords he knew, it only took for him to be quick witted enough to keep the advantage over his plotting but otherwise unaware opponent.

"Marching towards a city filled with people ready to murder us, with our newly formed army being left at the walls; can't say I thought this was how I'd go" Farkas said from beside Reynald sardonically; not thinking much of Reynald's plan, but not of the nature to outright count himself out from the upcoming adventure.

Vilkas who rode side by side with his brother soothed him, "calm brother, we've not faced any yet who could challenge neither the harbinger's prowess nor his wits, I doubt some back mountain lot will be much of a problem", Farkas relented then being really more agitated at the thought of a battle rather than afraid to face one.

Reynald appreciated the nord's personality at any given time now included; he himself could feel the familiar feeling of apprehension welling up inside him as he thought of the many ways this enemy could end them.

It would count for all if the king met them at the gates or his own halls, for one meant archers and ambushers all around while the other meant assassins disguised as ordinary servants and porters. He signalled for his army to stop behind just a good length from the walls before his own group of ten or so made for the length of the city walls.

He didn't have to wait much longer for his answer as the tall gates of the city began to open up; revealing a group of seated figures sitting on strong mounts but lacking the telltale signs of being battle ready. No heavy armour or long arms where present on the small group save for the ceremonial armour of the king himself and his guard's usual city colours.

Reynald led his group to within only a few yards of his receivers before offering an upturned hand in salute, "hail to you king Hastrel" he said to the man seated in the middle of the party, a person of advanced age who was of a stocky build; with stern looking features crisscrossing with greying hair and prominent dark eyes.

"Hail Reynald Manis; dragonborn and champion of Tamriel" the king responded with something matching amusement in his voice, Reynald would have immediately found it suspicious even if he did not know of the king's nefarious plan. He did not look like a man who enjoyed giving out pleasant greeting, or anything pleasant at all mind.

"I come to enlist your aid in my endeavour; and I am must express my thanks at your quick reply" Reynald said then; lying through a mouth that formed an easy smile, "perhaps we can retire to your hall and talk of my plan", the king was all to happy to oblige and lead the way with his guards allowing Reynald and his fellows to enter.

It came then to the false pleasantries the dragonborn showered on his host for the order his city exhibited, while commenting on the seemingly strong mix of both breton's and nord's that moved around the city space. The king replied in a superior tone that made the Reynald's blood stir within his chest; telling him of how both his nord and breton subjects alike seemed to surpass themselves in the laxness of their duties, or how they seemed to hold the local criminal lord in esteem.

"Any of that sort should be sent to the block immediately" Reynald said with hidden disdain as they began their ascent to the king's own hall, which was emplaced upon a mount of land that towered over the rest of the city much like that of Windhelm; save for the lack of a dragon hold nor such a grand statue of Talos as the base of it's ascent.

They reached the doors of the king's hold which was both extravagant and fortified in good measure; with guards posted along every corridor and wall ending it seemed, Reynald who was at the head of the conclave with Hastrel suggested that his men leave their kit on the saddles of their horses which secretly allowed the king to rejoice; thinking his plan completely successful.

Now without their weapons and seemingly defenceless the invited guests took their seats inside the kings hall; which was like any great hall filled with expensive mead and gorgeous foods of every taste, the group which Reynald had brought contained the original companions from their own hall in Skyrim along with his new leader Detritus and some few other bretons.

All had concealed weapons within their various garments and where covered in body armour which was not suspicious to the king who expected as such, several rounds of mead went through the table as the king waxed on about the joys of his rule and the various settlements he held under his rule; while Reynald with pleasantry listened and laughed away.

Secretly though the dragonborn resented this man greatly the more he spoke; as this was the sort of king who resented the small people of his hold and valued only wealth and power, Reynald could remember the leader of his own hold that had doomed his father to a shameful death which only increased the fire burning in his chest.

Then as the fireplace burned away in the hall and night came the king brought forward his court wizard who looked every bit as similar to Reynald's own aide, who said "I have concocted a special brew for you and your men, which will give you great vitality and power", at that Reynald and all his men took the silver cup brought forward by two servants and drank the lot in a harty gulp.

Once it went down Reynald noted the dark gleam in the king's eyes as well as that of his chief supporter and co-conspirator, Reynald himself put on an act of being deeply drugged with his head seemingly swimming so that the king then became malicious.

"Strange isn't it, that the divines would grant the blood of a dragon to such a man of low origins" he asked with a sneer, "I hear your family was nothing but a bunch of poor game hunters", Reynald only replied with a half witted response as he seemed to be fully under the effect of a drug.

His men seemed the same so that the king brushed his hand forward and knocked his own drinking cup onto the floor as if it was accidental, Reynald knew better however and finally leapt into action; turning away from the table and unleashing two hands that were filled with scalding flames that caught the halls overhanging recesses and soon sent two screaming men flailing away in horror.

They where assassins emplaced there to make short work of Reynald and his group; who now alerted bust into action pulling free their hidden blades and holding no signs of actually having been poisoned. The king who was in complete shock was easily overtaken by an enraged Farkas while his commander of the guard was pinned by Detritus.

Reynald's companions then set to work combating the assassins and guards who seemed to fly out from every recess of the stonewalled hall, who while wielding heavy axes and claymores where of only ordinary stock so that the battle hardened companions with their short blades quick work of the men, either killing or disabling them to the last.

"Strange now isn't it, that a mere hunter has the measure of you" Reynald said to the now bound king who was held by Vilkas, a sneer placed upon the face of the dragonborn who himself had not taken up a weapon.

The king only replied with obscenities in a fury filled voice as Reynald's group took hold of the doors and began to sweep the outer areas of the keep for servants and other guards, he himself sat and wondered how things had transpired at the walls of the city.

The dragonborn who was a keen strategist had figured that taking the king himself and his assassins would not be enough for the guards of the city to give up any defence, so instead he had his man Kastus lead a small group to the outlying farm and set a blaze to attract the attention of the guards.

Of course they soon opened the gates and went to combat the blaze; being met there by some outwardly helpful dragonborn soldiers who also worked to combat the flames, it was settled and for thanks the city guards offered their helpers some ale and warm food.

Not knowing anything of their leader's designs they lead the men back to their walls and began to go about setting up a small feast in the city guard, it would not last however as Kastus and his men quickly made the men there prisoner by taking advantage of their gratitude.

Now having disposed of the group the breton led his small force to the main gate of the city and again triumphed through the lack of preparation by the guards, releasing a small fireball in signal to the night sky the remaining force of the dragonborn moved towards the city.

Any guard on the wall that was not dealt with by Kastus could only look on helplessly as the gates opened for the force that quickly rushed inside and swarmed the city, none could make a proper defence and soon nearly the entire city was within the control of the dragonborn force.

One small group of guards who where on duty at the base of the cities higher hall saw all the happenings and did now know what to do, however their leader who was the second in command of the city acted quickly; and with his guards made for their king's residence to protect their liege.

They managed to ascend half of the stairs of the winding passageway to their king's hall when the doors opened and with that came the dragonborn, armed and at either side of him one of his fierce nord warriors Farkas and Vilkas.

"Stop you rebel, what have you done with my king" the officer cried while rushing forward with his men to attack, however Reynald was more than equal to the threat and shouted at the guards "**ZUN HAAL VIIK" **making their weapons fly some distance away into the city grounds around them.

The guards who had never seen such an act offered no more resistance; with some being so shocked so that they dropped to their knees in surrender, their leader however quickly rallied and attempted to rush Reynald.

He was quickly beat down and then bound by the brothers at Reynald's side; so that it then happened that without more than a few skirmishes the dragonborn gained control of the city of Jehanna.

The city was not at peace however and only the weapons at the ready hands of the occupying force kept an all out fight from breaking out, in order to combat the disorder Reynald quickly called for a city wide gathering in the expanse of the marketplace.

All who had been put under house arrest within the city where assembled there; while Reynald himself had taken up his place on the bare throne that stood on a platform that had previously been raised for executions and public orders from the crown.

The king of the city was bound at the platform along with his chief guard and the other would be assassins who had not fallen in the prior battle, all his guards who where bereft of their weapons shouted in contempt along with many of the city's leaders.

Reynald spoke then to the crowd in his most austere and commanding voice; with his appearance was that of a mighty warrior to add to the dread of the city residents, "I will speak with those you all deem senior enough to tell me of your trouble, come forward now" he commanded, with a trio of people coming forward to the platform with seemingly little in the way of fear.

One as an aged old man in priestly robes who had a look of dignity across his wrinkled; snow white features while another was a young woman, she was tall in stature with striking eyes and a lean figure with her body language showing only defiance to Reynald. The third was a middle aged man who looked just as tall and proud, but with brown skin and strong facial features that seemed to offer resistence themselves so to leave the dragonborn with no doubt where he hailed from.

"State your name and rank" he then commanded, with their names being Stenar; Abella and Sader while their ranks also listed as priest and chief worshipper for the oldest, vendor for the woman and chief merchant for the city for the redguard, "Tell me what it is I must do to settle your people" he said then after, the young woman jumped in first harshly.

"You come here invited by our king and instead of taking him into your confidence you have him bound at your feet like some mere thief, what gives you the right to come here with these raiders" she asked; voice hot and filled with audible contempt, the eldest of the group quickly attempted to soothe her but Reynald was just as quick to reply.

"I came here to gain support among the joint nord and breton population within the city; and instead I find your king plotting to conspire with this other whelp you see bound to murder me" Reynald told her then, causing her eyes to flicker to the gagged and helpless king for a second, "ask your king's own confident for any doubts you have on my word" Reynald then said causing the resident court wizard to quickly inform the woman and surrounding crowd of the truth.

Many outright balked at the idea but where quickly silenced by the upraised hand of Reynald, which of course commanded the guards settled around the area, "If even what you say is true, then it is the fault of our lord; but not the people themselves" the eldest protestor said to Reynald.

"In the old laws any man whether he be a prince or a pauper is responsible for his actions, since I believe that the laws of your hold; which are recognised as from the central imperial body of Cyrodiil are flawed, I will enforce the will of these old laws and take possession of all that man owns in retribution", Reynald then lifted his hands and cupped them together to signify the city before saying "He holds this city as a birthright, since his crime is so heinous all will belong to me"

The priest who was named Stenar quickly replied though saying "You a surely going to bring down the full force of the imperial armies upon our city, you cannot ask us to attach ourselves to your doomed rebellion".

"I can and you shall, I fight to renew this province and all of man held lands to combat the mer threat; which is a threat to you all included" Reynald argued back in a more serious voice, outlining his conviction, "this city is just the beginning" he promised.

"How can we as people who have sworn an oath switch our allegiance to you" the redguard asked; hardly surprising Reynald with his stubborn refusal to bend "I won't just forsake my lord because he committed a fault, who are you to judge a king".

Reynald stood up then and approached the man with tension, he came face to face with the man so that he could easily cut him down and said "I am the one man who stood against the flame; ice and awesome thunder of the world eater to prevent this world being destroyed, and for that I demand your allegiance", Reynald turned away and pointed to the bound king "He attempted to have my head so I shall have his, along with his assassins and conspirators".

The eldest reached forward then and grasped Reynald's arm causing his followers to spring forward as if to cut him down, Reynald's free arm came up for them to halt while the old man unafraid said "Please do not have our king executed like some common criminal, how could I look him in the face when we meet in the halls of the dead", Reynald in response gave the man a questioning look then before stalking away and resuming his seated position.

"What other option does the law provide, no man neither king nor servant is above the decrees of the gods" Reynald asked; secretly planning a way to cajole the city within him.

Stenar told his earnestly "You wish for us to serve your will and support you, then we will do that and swear an oath to such; if only you would spare our king's life", the city seemed to shout out in acceptance of this then with all greatly respecting their eldest and seemingly wisest.

Reynald took it in for a moment while secretly marvelling at the cities loyalty; to a man with more vices than virtues it seemed "If you all swear to serve me faithfully and support my army then I will spare your king; and only reduce him to a figure", Reynald told them all in a commanding voice which seemed to be accepted.

"what of this lot then" he asked after gesturing to the bound group of seven men.

"Spare them like you have our king" the ill at ease female of the group said, seeming far too hasty not to have some involvement or vested interest.

"Your companion is among them then" he asked, to which she told him that the chief guard was indeed her husband, "A fine woman such as yourself should have better taste" Reynald deadpanned back, before commanding that the rest of the group would be throw into his new jail for a little while; to _Reduce their thoughts of rebellion_.

She relented then and the crowd was all seemingly contented at having secured their king's life, even though a great majority of them seem less than pleased at joining themselves to the Dragonborn's cause.

Reynald went forward there and stood in front of the crowd saying "you are all now free to go about your business and the city will resume as normal, the former court wizard will now become my lieutenant in the city and will rule while I go and settle other matters, you are to are too present all concerns to her" he ordered, much to the woman's surprise who had originally been in league with him.

"What of your soldiers, are they staying to harass our women and steal from our homes" one man shouted in a strong northern accent, Reynald immediately had the man brought forward and then questioned him.

"My men will not harm your family nor commit crimes, I assure you" Reynald promised the man who seemed a little flustered at having been brought forward by two strong looking guards, he was surprised then and while flustered still managed to say "last night two of your men pestered my wife as she closed up our shop in the market, they wouldn't leave her alone until she gave them all our stores of mead". The leader of the force became visibly angry at this and bade the man point these two out.

In some time two figures where seen subtly attempting to conceal themselves behind a nearby stall; Reynald had them both quickly brought forward and pressed them for information. Neither was easily going to admit fault but one of their fellow soldiers who was at odds with them quickly told Reynald he had seen them commit the act; and subsequently sell some of the mead among their company.

"I ordered every soldier here to respect the city and not to commit any offence; but you two rustic dolts have broken the command and you both shall suffer the consequences" Reynald said to them harshly, afterwards ordering both men to the block.

The king was then set free and went away with his now released steward while the assassins where shuffled off to prison, his two soldiers where placed ready for execution despite their cries of innocence.

Stenar who had remonstrated for his king quickly interceded however and said to Reynald "You have shown leniency today to our own king who conspired against you, can you not show the same to your own men", the dragonborn refuted this quickly though and bade the cities own executor to carry on.

But the old breton would not be cowed so easily and began to wrestle with the burly man who heaved the cutters axe; he himself was then easily restrained by the man he attempted to stop.

"Leave the day bloodless" Stenar cried with much feeling in his voice, with Reynald developing a great respect for the man then.

"Without rules the army becomes nothing but a mob, military law dictates justice" Reynald reasoned, knowing full well an army went only as far as its discipline.

"Reduce them to a flogging, please don't have their heads on my account" the previously wronged vendor said then, with Stenar and his other spokes people joining in an attempt to convince the dragonborn.

Reynald appeared to be none fazed by the appeals but after a few more impassioned appeals he finally relented, "you two have been saved today by these people who you only so recently wronged; and my own soft heart, I pray you set your fault right" Reynald told the two very sorry men, who quickly begged forgiveness from the vendor and by act of remonstration promised to repay the debt.

All in the city where very pleased by the justice dolled out by their new lord and resolved not to cause dissent then, the generally good discipline showed by the dragonborn army did not set them against the force either with the two soldiers remonstration increased their fondness if only a little.

It didn't have to be said how much Reynald and all others respected Stenar for his desire for peace; with all those in the city clamouring for the man to be rewarded.

"You will serve as advisor to your new prefect priest, and preside over cases that involve death and life" Reynald then commanded, but Stenar was insistent on remaining in his small post citing his lack of ability.

"With your kind heart who needs ability" was the reply, and through much pestering he finally relented.

The city then became quiet again as it was before the arrival of Reynald's force, who for the most part remained outside the walls so as not to disrupt the city too much. Now geared towards providing provisions for the dragonborn's army the city was taken up by all the bustle of production, wheat and grain was harvested in great sheathes while fletcher's and armourers worked day and night to provide for an upcoming campaign.

All was paid for by Reynald who now commanded the treasury of the city, while no offence or crime was left unpunished so that the city became almost perfectly ordered. The chief of the thieves within the city was quickly brought before the dragonborn who settled an agreement between the officers and renegades; so no great crimes where committed under the new rule.

Last seed then ended without much real action for the popular uprising; while the city and its residents settled well under the fair and kind rule of the dragonborn, it came to it however at the beginning of the next month that Reynald called a council amongst his supporters.

Among these were his original _Officers_ save Kastus who remained drilling the soldiers; as well as the three elected spokespeople for the city and other important people such as Aranea Lenith and Sybille, not to mention the person who held commandant of the city Lisette.

"Farrun is another chief city within the northern reach and their king has surely heard of what has transpired here, the city must be settled lest they attempt to gain help from Wayrest and put us under siege" Reynald said to the assembled group.

Detritus spoke first saying "Farrun is a city of high walls and deep trenches; with natural cover from the great mountain expanse and surrounding swamps and lakes, it would be a great test to put it under siege". This view was shared by the other High Rock soldiers present save Ulrich who had spent a number of years within the city in question.

"I do not agree, while the city is in a strong fortification and has natural defences it is by it's nature as a city filled with many mouths to feed, it has little to no farmland and relies on transported wheat from far out settlements and by boat" the pleasantly bright breton argued "If you put up a sustained siege and cut off transport by ship you will be able to conquer the city by it's own hunger within a few months", this view while informed did not please Reynald.

"In a few months Wayrest would have sent a force against us, I agree with a siege but I need the quickest victory possible" he told the assembled group, the always vocal but equally humble Stenar then advised his new lord.

"I have for years held friendly and intimate relations with their king Perien, who is a kind man and would not wish a siege on his own people, neither a life to be lost" the elder told all assembled, eager to pursue a bloodless campaign for as long as possible "Let me write to the king and convince him of your intentions, then you can do what you will".

"Always the wisest in the room" Reynald said then with a smile, he quickly consented to the idea but advised his men to prepare their own companies for action.

How the letter was received will be revealed in the next chapter.


	8. The Birth of the Little Dragon

Hello this is the next instalment in this story, I've gotten some good criticism back and I hope I've managed to deal with it in a positive light, I hope anyway.

Despite this being an action/adventure story there's been a lack of it lately which this chapter will hopefully remedy, though I will tell you that it is at least a good halfway in so do please bear with it.

I find myself cut up between delivering the sort of description I have done so far in the last chapter along with this chapter, and the more cut and thrust descriptions I had used in the first opening chapters.

Though I will say there is a lot more to take in so again thoughts would be appreciated on the new scaling as it is.

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><p>The last chapter ended with Stenar advising a letter to be sent to king Perien of Farrun; in order to avoid an all out battle between Jehanna and Farrun. Now this was sent along with a small team of diplomats that included Stenar to the kingdom who received them in court at the middle point of second seed <em>4E 201<em>.

The kingdom that the group entered; complete with banners and a set of guards around their accompanying carriage was one of upturned hills, large mountain expanses and numerous different bogs and meadows alike that could inflict both vitality and lethargy upon any dwelling there.

As the band approached the city many of the diplomats noted that their leader's military advisors had been correct in their estimation, no settled fields or level ground existed for the procurement of food and sustenance. They after a few good hours of travelling found themselves at the walls of Farrun which looked every bit as inhospitable as the lands themselves, the city walls looked to be overrun by moss on it's right flank by the oncoming mountain range while it's left was witness to ever encroaching floods that made only a small road ahead possible.

"I have never seen such a battered city before, how could any live here" one young priest asked, voicing the thoughts of most others.

Stenar who was resting on the carriage told him "The king of these lands is both gentle and kind, so that his people never suffer much", this would be seen to be proved for as they announced themselves at the walls of the city all were immediately taken into the residence of the ruler.

The guards where nothing but courteous as they led the group to the hold which looked extravagant and always ready for an audience, Stenar mentioned that king Perien had always said "_A Hall that is full of friends, and full of wines. That is the sort of hall for me"_ so that all relaxed and drank freely.

In a short time the king came forward and his court was filled, courtiers and stewards who looked gentle and happy appeared beside the throne with notably few military men before the king himself emerged. He was much like his chief visitor a man of great age with snow white hair, a long maintained white bread but with vivid eyes and some mirth in his face.

Instead of going to his throne the king immediately made forward for the chief guest and gathered his hands in his own saying "it has been far too long my friend, it appears the years have been as unkind to you as they have to I".

At these words the old breton's face was overcome with grief and he at once pulled free the document he had been sent to present, "what is this" the king asked after a moment of shock at seeing his friend so down trodden.

The old priest of Jehanna merely bade him open which he quickly did, the document read as such:

"_I Reynald Manis; of no great birthright or ability, have taken up the responsibility of reviving the state, in no small part due to the villainy that that exists within the highest reaches of the imperial court. Now I have from my friend Stenar heard of your virtuousness in rule and great kindness to your people, so that I would present you with the offer of joining yourself to my cause._

"_No army can move forward to smite with such a critical edge at its back, so I need your solemn oath that you will in no way answer the sure summons to come from the kingdom of Wayrest, to lend them advantage. If you swear such to me in the prescience of my man I will be satisfied, and we will have no quarrel you and I"._ The note was signed by the same name present, adding only the title of _**Dragonborn**_ and _**Champion of Tamriel**_.

King Perien was greatly confused and quickly took up his seat on the throne; next he called for his military man and immediately called Stenar forward who until now had taken up a resigned seat.

"Who is this man to call himself by such titles, what has happened to king Hastrel" he hurriedly asked, to which he was told all the details of Reynald entering the city; and his subsequent overcoming of the king's assassination attempt, "Where is your lord now then" he asked after the explanation.

"Making for Evermor by the leniency of Reynald to plead to queen Carolyna, I promise you that I could only save his life through my drastic actions" Stenar with much heart told Perien, who again seemed to have his ghost leave his body.

"I have heard of this dragonborn through rumours from traders; and Ulfric and his Stormcloaks through passing imperial envoys, the defeat of the fourth legion was a hammer blow to the empire and now this open rebellion, what is to be done" the king asked to his court, who all seemed equally at a loss.

Then the great doors of the hold opened and in came a flying breton who looked to be short of breath but full of vigour, the steward to the king's side announced him hastily as lord Astien who was of the local nobility and the leader of the cities small army.

"I have just heard my lord" the man said before dropping to a knee before the throne, but was hastily upraised by his lord's welcoming hands.

"It will be good to have your council my friend, would you please present the document to my second" Perien asked Stenar who did as such, the man who was well educated quickly took it all in before tossing it away in disgust.

"Who is this brigand to think he can have you swear an oath to him, I would have his head before you at once if only you allow me" The young leader said, showing his supreme devotion to the king who then attempted to calm him.

That done he turned to Stenar and said "You and I have been friends since we took the road of pilgrimage together, I pray you give me your honest opinion"

The taxed Stenar; who hated to put such a great friend in this position said "I have sworn to Reynald that I would suffer all his whims and tasks in order to prevent my lord Hastrel from meeting his end, but even if I had not I would tell you now that it would not be wise to oppose. His army while new contains many fierce warriors and holds the added strength of Jehanna and her guard, not to mention the stores and stocks that come with it, you would be hard pressed to defend a siege I feel".

This view was widely opposed by the king's councillors and especially lord Astien, who rebuked the old man as a fool, "I do not believe this Reynald has any of the resolve nor the wit to see through a determined siege, and to speak of Jehanna's fall like some masterstroke is folly".

Perien to this asked the man who he was very dependent upon what he should do, to which Astien replied "Send a small force of cavalry to ride quick for Evermor and request aid from the queen, she'll be eager to destroy this rebel as a warning to any other would be pretenders in her lands".

This seemed good advice so that Perien was much obliged to carry it out; he did however ask Stenar who has been passive what he thought of such a plan.

Astien did not out of respect scoff at such an idea, but even he was surprised when Stenar said "Your lord here looks to be a strong warrior and full of pluck, it is your duty to oblige by the ruling of Wayrest and not work against her. If you wish to resist then you only carry out your duty, while I only carry out mine".

It was settled at that then; with cavalry twenty in number was sent riding for Evermor to request aid sovereign kingdom of Wayrest, on the suggestion of his steward king Perien kept Stenar and his men around to drink and sow up friendship, while in secret the king hoped to stop the group from rushing back to inform their leader of his resistance.

It was not known by the king or his council however that Reynald had long since suspected such an action, having secretly sent out riders by double marches to check any force attempting to get word to Evermor.

They had been placed in certain points most likely for the messengers to traverse, so that when the group attempted to get out of their own kingdom they were met by fierce nord riders and breton spell throwers that were far too much for them.

None got through and where presently sent back to the city defeated, Farkas who had been leading the ambush signalled towards Jehanna which alerted the city to the attempt.

It was then that at the end of second seed Reynald led his force with much resignation, having not wanted to come to blows with other kingdoms of men when diplomacy seemed possible. He did so regardless leaving only a token force to protect his newly gained city then.

The cities grannies and stores where emptied also so that they where braced for a long siege, while Reynald sent letter's to his nord allies to stop any requests of grain from the nord's arriving to the city.

The king of Farrun was informed of both the approach of the dragonborn army and his defeated riders so that all hoped seemed lost.

"How can we hope to resist" he cried thinking that he had doomed his kingdom to death, only for his formidable servant Astien to step forward and offer himself forward to get word to Evermor.

"I sent twenty men last time and none could get past, what makes you so sure you will succeed my lord" the king asked, to which the reply was "My men where unsuccessful due to the preparation and insight of the rebel leader, but once he comes and lays siege to the walls he will not expect anyone to sally fourth from the city, after the first night I will climb down from the walls and invoke some method of escape then".

The king was not pleased however saying "You are the bravest man of my hold and the only one who can lead my men to victory, how could I allow you to put yourself in such danger".

Astien would not relent at this though "Since I took up the sword I have known my life could be taken at any moment in service to my lord, why now should I worry" was the argument that seemed to sway the king who believed his leader to be at his determined best.

It would not occur however until Reynald with his army came up on the city and began to take position around the cities good lands, due to the flooded grounds and mountain ranges of its right and left reaches it meant that only one third of the city was covered.

It was as much as the dragonborn and his men could expect however, with the champion himself spending the first night looking towards the city with more than a little remorse.

Kastus who had been carrying out reconnaissance at the walls of the city came across Reynald and then sent his men away, with these men gone he got to the heart of the issue saying "Sieges are the most terrible things in war; making savages of the lowliest foot soldier to the highest of generals, why not propel banners allowing surrender so that the defenders will be sapped".

This idea pleased Reynald greatly and he at once called some of his men to draw the banners up, while at the same time Astien who was himself looking over the opposing force saw the night turn dark and with that his moment came.

He quickly set his plate armour, took up his bow and spear before then scaling down the walls of the city into the mountain range, so that he avoided the gaze of sentries within Reynald's force.

Proceeding on foot down the range from ledge to ledge the single soldier got to the foot of the expanse before making forward to escape past Reynald's force. He soon came upon a trio of soldiers that had settled down for the night in a small gully and took out his bow, pulling back on the bowstring he let one ferocious arrow fly forward to strike the most alert guard straight to the eye.

The second and third jumped up in surprise but yet another arrow came which struck the second in the face full on so that he died, while the third quite afraid attempted to cry out in surprise but he too was settled by an arrow to the throat that left him choking in the gully.

Astien then doused the fires and reigned in the three horses present before setting off towards the freedom the trees behind the army presented, not thinking of a single figure as an enemy he quickly got away and began to ride hard for Evermor.

It would only be discovered in the morning that someone had managed to slay three guards and make off with their horses, a quick search by trackers and a whole host of scouts led to the conclusion that one man had indeed escaped the city.

Disappointed at the news Reynald called his leaders together and formed a crude council within his makeshift tent, he was as ever cautious in his movements so that he was inclined to retire his army.

Detritus was for the idea arguing "The length of the wall is restricted on both sides so that our superior numbers count for nothing, their runner is sure to tell Evermor of the siege and break it up"

Ulrich agreed saying "Even if Wayrest despises us they will still send a superior force to our own, why not retreat beneath the security of Jehanna's walls and wait until we can gain assistance from Ulfric and his army", this seemed plausible if unsatisfactory to the dragonborn who would rather evolve a better scheme, therefore he was much pleased when his other supporter Kastus spoke up.

"These ideas are too plain and lack no ambition; instead I say we wait until this force of Wayrest gets within sight. When that occurs we break camp and move away leaving only a small force to hold the embankment" the bright minded breton explained, before quieting Ulrich and Detritus by saying then "That done the defenders will be enticed to attack to lay their hands on our grain, one well prepared ambush will settle them".

This plan seemed just as he thought himself and he praised his officer in kind, then the officers left to prepare for the eventual retreat and ambush.

Now meanwhile Astien with his three horses broke noon and night to reach Evermor facing all the dangers required of him, Forsworn and bandits alike not to mention wild animals troubled the warrior on his path; but none could match the power of his bow, nor resist his spear so that he reached the city in short time.

Evermor which was now the unofficial chief city of eastern high rock was of a complete different stock than his own Farrun, for even as it was built into the mighty mountain expanse around it; it held none of the aging or damage associated with those cities higher in the reach.

Instead it was a city of clear majesty and mighty proportions, having the highest of walls built by the finest of the Wayrest masons while its gates had been transported from the great furnaces of Orsinium itself. As Astien entered he was greeted by the full marketplaces and subtle Wayrest style architecture that had overcame the city since its inception under Wayrest rule.

He made straight for the grand palace of queen Carolyna and immediately presented himself; while a hasty court order was called which gathered together the numerous dignitaries and court officials of the Wayrest kingdom.

Each lined up in the polished white hall of the palace according to rank and station while Astien prostrated himself before the ornate thrones of king and queen respectively, the king's throne was notably empty save for a great sword resting at its base along with the malachite and Silver circlet of the dead sovereign.

The queen meanwhile came forward presently and took her seat looking all of what one would expect from a ruler of such a large kingdom, she was covered in the finest silken robes and star white jewels that signified her own chief station; while her pearl white face was both youthful and strict in equal measure.

All the ceremony and presentations where carried out before the queen asked the nature of such a visit, Astien who was familiar with such conditions could barely contain himself as he told her "Some fellow going by the self-acclaimed title of Champion of Tamriel has usurped the throne of Jehanna and put Farrun under siege, I have been sent by my king Perien to request your aid to break his hold on our city".

This was of course met by the gasps of the assorted officials present, but not the queen who seemed to rage at the news.

"How can some malcontent place two of my vassal cities under siege, much less claim king Hastrel's city without my knowledge" she asked, to which none seemed to have an answer save Astien.

"This man seems to have made the free men of the cities believe that he is some great hero, where as I think he is but a wretch and brigand" Astien said to her then with genuine resentment and feeling, "I pray you send fourth a force to smite him before he can do further injury".

The queen could only agree and with much indignation said "I will need volunteers to lead the punishment of this bandit, who will lead such a force" she asked, almost immediately gaining a response as one figure from the bottom recess of the hall stood forward.

"I will provide the meagre service it provides my queen, and bring back the head of the man who dares oppose your rule" were the bold words spoken; it was by a man who on further inspection looked all that was needed for such a task.

He was by stature alone a man of prowess, with large rounded shoulders like a troll and a look of vehemence across his face. Even at court he wore a set of armour and a sword so that he seemed ready at all times to settle any affair.

He was a Redguard by the name of Malek Kalort and had been a favourite of the late king so that he was in favour with the queen, his family where one of the oldest Redguard families within High Rock and had some famed warriors and legends to their heritage so that he was immediately accepted.

The queen however was not satisfied sending only one to lead and called for a second, again she was met quickly by another youthful man of the court who offered his services.

This was a man who went by the name of Zaric but had no second, as he had been as a youth adopted by the late king of Wayrest in the years preceding the great war, he had loved his lord greatly and when the city of Wayrest had been sacked he had led the carriage of the queen to safety.

He was like the leading commander a man of some striking appearance, having unblemished skin like jade that was said not to hold a single scar; while his face was angular and chiselled that contrasted well with a long dark mane of auburn hair.

He had been named 'Zaric the beautiful' by the ladies of the court and looked far too kept to be a warrior, but at his announcement the queen seemed greatly pleased and lavished great presents of arms and armour on the pair.

Zaric however returned all on their arrival to his home, "I have not yet completed my task and could not accept such gifts, please keep them for my return" he said so that his stock was even greater with the ruler of Wayrest.

The army marched out barely a week after the arrival of Astien in numbers nearly meeting twice that of Reynald's force; as witnessed by the Farrun based noble on his escape from the city. They consisted of a noble group of youthful knights that followed their commanders closely along with a massing of peasants and men at arms that had been hastily put together.

It was of course not the regulars of Wayrest as they went to blood in lesser recruits and the younger fighting men of kingdom, but still the banners of the force were sprung high and their weapons and great battle suits glittered in the daytime as they marched.

The force itself took great strides forward in an attempt to relieve the city and as the commander had no real respect for his enemies he barely took into account how taxed his men would be on arrival, by the end of a small few days they came into sight of Reynald's scouts who quickly relayed the arrival to the dragonborn.

"Break camp and move the main force to oppose, Galien will command the garrison here and Farkas will lead the ambush" he commanded, so that his army moved to meet his newest adversary.

The dragonborn force moved so that Reynald's army was situated in some uneasy grounds that had woods and mountains surrounding their flanks, while their camp itself was settled on rough terrain that provided a natural defence to an outright assault.

The Wayrest army appeared later in the night and immediately settled camp some distance away from the opposing force, settling in open ground without thinking to erect anything more than a basic camp with some meagre fortifications.

Reynald with his leaders rode out to investigate their enemy and found their preparations to be greatly lacking if they themselves where to attack, Reynald was greatly amused despite the severity of the situation and warned his men at such overconfidence saying "these noblemen of High Rock know nothing of tactics and are supremely arrogant, it won't be hard to displace them".

They all agreed with the Dragonborn with Detritus who was forever impetuous said "The men are rested while our enemies are spent, why not attack and make short work of them", the suggestion seemed good to many in the small force.

"We will allow them to rest and prepare for the morning, then I will send a runner to open up negotiations with them" he told his officers who where greatly perplexed, then explaining "these leaders are obsessed with personal honour while their soldiers are young and naïve in the ways of war, if the head is lost the body will follow"

The plan seemed less than what Detritus advised but Reynald's men agreed none the less, they all retired and at the morning began to organise their force for their first large scale engagement.

At the opening of the morning both forces had awakened and began setting about preparing themselves for the upcoming battle, Malek who had been waiting this moment with eagerness then received a message presented by bowshot offering them the chance to parlay with Reynald.

"This will be my chance to draw this brigand out and slay him" the confident general thought, who readily accepted.

The armies then drew up in the middle of the field that separated their camps, the Wayrest force with their glittering arms; armour and grand flying banners looking very impressive against the backdrop of their superior force. Reynald's army looked though quite gaunt and rough with their hides and unpolished steels making those from Wayrest seem confident of a quick victory.

The leaders of Wayrest all looked fine and superior also, Malek who was the lead commander on a sturdy black steed had donned a suit of the finest ebony armour that wrapped around him head to toe, while in his hand a menacing looking ebony axe he named 'Nirn Splitter' rested.

Then there was Zaric who was at his side having donned a simple silken white robe that covered his mithril armour, which was fastened by a fur and gold stitched girdle making him look just as superb as the general at the forefront of the army, albeit with only a slight looking long spear held in hand.

Malek rode out and began to revile his head opponent saying "You rebels of no house; how dare you raise an army against my queen and injure her vassal kingdoms, have you no thought for your own heads"

Reynald then came forward from his own lines, "I am the Dragonborn and slayer of the world eater itself, what is your kingdom to me" he shouted; to which Malek replied with a further volley of abuse.

"Dare you test yourself against the kingdoms best" Malek asked brandishing his heavy axe, to which Reynald replied only with "I dare" before whipping up his steed and riding for his enemy.

Now Malek was only happy to oblige and quickly set off himself to meet his enemy head on; who when reaching his opponent pulled free his 'sword of the nine' and set his shield to meet the heavy axe of the redguard. Both came together in a blistering exchange as Malek's weapon crashed against Reynald's shield; while his own sword skirted just shy of the Wayrest leader's neck.

Malek was like expected a strong and brutal warrior with his fire imbued heavy axe so that every time his weapon impacted against Reynald's own sparks of fire erupted to punish the dragonborn, but his own blade was almost perfectly crafted and had the stunning power of magicka within it so that the redguard found himself hard pressed to match the speed of his opponent, not to mention pass by his great shield.

It seemed as near thirty bouts were exchanged the opponents where well matched, but then the dash and vigour of Reynald came on fully so that when Malek threw his weapon again in an attempt to overpower the breton Reynald deftly leapt forward and managed to capture the head of Malek's weapon, before then with all his might plunging his blade into the redguard's bicep so that he could no longer hold his heavy weapon.

The dragonborn then attempted to finish his opponent but his strike was too wide so that he only slashed across Malek's helmet, it came free giving the redguard yet another reason to turn his horse and flee towards his own lines.

His blood up and surging Reynald rather than giving the signal took off towards his fleeing opponent in order to cut him down before his army and further dampen their spirit, his horse appeared to have more under it's legs so that he came up behind Malek ready to strike.

The redguard though was seemingly saved then by two young nobles who rushed forward to his aid, each wielding a heavy weapon like their leader with relish. Reynald however was far too much for either man as he nimbly deflected their heavy weapons, before disabling one and cutting down another in just a trio of blows each.

Then that the Wayrest army seemed to pale back and lose all resolve seeing their general fleeing and two of their finest cut down, Reynald who managed to clear his head was about to unleash his own signature signal of attack before yet another opponent made to challenge him.

It was the leader who was bathed in near all white and wielding only a slender spear so that when Reynald seen him approach he thought he would be his next victim, but Zaric's first strike was quick as War Master himself so that the he nearly pierced the heart of the Dragonborn.

Reynald evaded however and attempted to press upon his opponent with quickness and deft skill, but found that his opponent was nothing but perfect in his spear work so that his own skill was matched from each strike to parry. The two combatants then without thought towards their environment set against each other with all their skill and exertion so that fifty blows where traded without as much as a nick or injury between them.

On Reynald's side many of his leaders saw that there dragonborn commander had began to fatigue so that they began to sound horns and beat of drums for him to retire, while the valiant leader of Wayrest was eager only to secure his own commander's safety.

Both men pulled off then and retired tot heir own lines; with Reynald hooking up Malek's discarded helmet and Zaric lending attention to the downed noble the dragonborn had so only recently injured.

Both armies retired then of their own accord for the night and within Reynald's camp a great feeling of pride settled in amongst the army, Reynald then retired to his own camp and took council with his leaders.

It was again Detritus again who spoke up first suggesting they assault their enemies camp without delay, then his seeming chief supporter Ulrich also pushed forward this idea so that Reynald got a good idea that these men where close in thought to each other.

Reynald was not as wiling as to risk a full scale battle again without dealing a crippling blow to his enemy first however and said to them "I would have ordered an assault today only for that hero and his timely intervention, he saved the spirit of their army today I have no doubt"

"What is your plan then" they all asked, to which Reynald replied "I will offer this leader terms for a duel to settle this conflict; and in the same breath shame the man I bested today, they will either agree or attempt to attack our camp of guard. Either way I will conquer them".

The plan seemed good so a message was sent by rider to the Wayrest camp, he quickly delivered a letter by bowshot that was brought into the main tent of their leader Malek; who was due to his injury in much pain and full of rage.

It read out extolling the virtue of the white robed rider of the Wayrest force; while at the same time dismissing Malek as pitiful warrior, it had the desired affect as the redguard went into a frenzy within his tent; which caused his newly formed stitches to bust open.

The noblemen around him attempted to placate him so that he could be treated once again, Zaric included who had come to check upon the health of his fellow commander.

"I would promise my soul to the prince's of oblivion just to see that cur slain" Malek told them between fits of fury and pain, Zaric who had been called out again to face the dragonborn leader quickly accepted and sent word.

"Do not fret brother, I will have this man's head at your feet by mid-sun" the bold warrior promised; to which Malek seemed thankful and somewhat contented, but secretly in his heart he was not a little envious and wished not to see his second attain better success than himself.

Then the armies once again matched up against each other with their respective champions at their heads; with both men looking full of vitality which promised a great encounter.

Reynald came out first and shouted "Where is your commander, is his body ready to join his head", while brandishing the stolen helmet of the leader; which was followed by righteous laughter from the Dragonborn's army, Zaric however only whipped up his steed and took off towards his enemy having raged at the insult.

Now Reynald had dropped his heavy shield for the bout with a second blade preferred instead; so that when the combatants met his blades where like a whirling vortex against the long spear of Wayrest's own champion, but even as the dragonborn with his dual weapons toiled away he could find no weakness within the spearmanship of Zaric so that the two where once again matched blow for blow.

His own limits where also tested by the same spear that was so dangerous with it's razor sharp blade at the head, so that either man was forced to switch between attack and defence often enough to make both combatants expend all their energy in order to survive.

Between them the pair traded some fifty blows before Reynald; who was quite sure he would have to resort to guile to win turned as if worsted and made for a reprieve in his own lines. Now Zaric was eager to end the threat of this army there so that he pursued and with his spear attempted to stab Reynald through the back.

The dragonborn had planned this however so that when Zaric came on he suddenly wheeled around his horse and with great power flung his second sword as if to skewer his chasing adversary, true to his skill the Wayrest leader deflected the blade but then Reynald struck out with his held blade so that Zaric could only barely make a defence.

It was with the result then that Zaric was sent free from his horse as Reynald's blade was deflected into the holding straps of the harness, meaning Reynald was free to turn and bear down on Zaric who had tumbled out of the saddle.

He was not willing to give up so easily and with one surge forward he managed to drive his spear through the plating of Reynald's horse sending the rider tumbling over the falling beast, he recovered in time however to ward of Wayrest leader who was at a disadvantage.

His spear was embedded within the dead mount of Reynald so that he had nothing but a saddle to defend himself from an attack, Reynald then instead of pressing the advantage tossed his famed weapon to the unarmed leader who was more than a little surprised.

"I'll not have my victory stained" the dragonborn said with steel in his voice, then with great conjuring ability summoned a lethal; elaborate daedric blade that looked every bit as menacing as it's original creator.

Now on foot each man rushed forward and with a clash of swords began to put their respective skill to the test, it was every bit as heroic as the previous contest with blows being traded at a frantic pace to the delight of both sides surrounding the two duellists. This time with a sword in hand Zaric seemed no less of a skilled warrior; but unaccustomed to a sword so that Reynald looked to have his opponent at a disadvantage that would soon become deadly.

Astien who was in the conclave of mounted nobles saw all this and planned then to end the battle with his city saved, the Farrun born noble quickly made his way under the impressive main standard of Wayrest and with some remarkable skill let fly an arrow that despite the range hit Reynald full on in the shoulder; so that his guard was weakened to the point of non-existence against such a deadly opponent as Zaric.

The man who had following the arrow impact managed to swipe Reynald's feet from under him was in a perfect position to execute the dragonborn; himself looking up to his opponent with some amount of anger, before Zaric lowered his given weapon.

"You were kind enough not to have my head when I was at a disadvantage, how can I take yours" said Zaric so that Reynald was eternally grateful, his army however behind him had watched the act of cowardice so that they all where riled up and ready to come on against those of Wayrest.

"Return to your lines champion, it's time for the real battle" Reynald said as he whirled his sword up so that his men knew to come on, Zaric however turned away and managed to pull in his wayward steed before taking off for the safety of his own lines.

Then on came the dragonborn force in three formations with a further group of companions leading the swift advance, Aranea Lenith and Farkas who both had been seated within the ranks of the horsed companions rushed on to Reynald's aid.

"Return to the lines and we'll settle this" the gruff voice of Farkas commanded; but Reynald would not listen however and instead ordered Aranea to relinquish her horse so that he could lead the charge.

"Your wounded, you'll be in danger without treatment" the Dunmer said in reply while still dropping off her horse, the dragonborn would not hear of it though and made her cast a quick; but strong healing spell upon him that returned a good deal of function to his injured shoulder.

Reynald and his companions where then of one formation as the group rushed around their leader, behind the foot soldiers who where both breton and nord alike ran along to catch up, all of the Wayrest army was ready on the defensive then with their archers pushing forward past the nobility.

"Aranea fall in with Detritus in the centre and use your summoning when necessary" Reynald commanded before then shouting around to his gathered horsemen "We will attack first and slaughter the leaders of Wayrest, any man who brings the head of my former opponent will be given commandant of Farrun"

The companions who where already riled by seeing their harbinger injured could only hasten forward at the promise of such a position so that the whole force dashed towards that of Wayrest seemingly without care. The main army of Reynald was some way behind so that the archers of Wayrest where ordered to fire into the centre of the cavalry force and stop the charge then.

All where all too eager and with a short command fired onto the companions who still advanced as if nothing could assail them, the arrows then when just about impacting where met by the thundering dragon shout of Reynald that was heard as "_**FUS DO RAH**_" so that nearly every arrow fired was deflected harmlessly away.

None of those within the Wayrest force could believe such a thing and now within a few short spans the companions where upon the vanguard of the Wayrest force. Archers who had previously been flanked by their betters fled away in terror while the nobles of Wayrest; who where seated on horses could only flail as the crush came on.

The companions who where for the most burly nord's wielding huge weapons managed a great impact against the Wayrest nobility so that many where crushed beneath axes; claymores and hammers, while Reynald himself at the centre of the formation used his destruction casting abilities to spray fire and ice towards his enemy.

It meant that the leadership of Wayrest was utterly helpless with even Zaric fighting desperately against the oppressive assault; that already within a few moments had claimed many lives so that no defence seemed possible. Around the companions then the main force of the dragonborn lead by Detritus came on to provide support so that they could not be displaced.

The battle of course was then an all out melee with Wayrest facing an assault on both their front and either flank so that they where worsted and eager for a retreat, Malek who had been confined to his own camp could only look on helplessly while Zaric led the desperate counterattack.

The battle held then for what seemed an eternity as some measure of resolve was emplaced upon those of Wayrest, their race being breton they where able to conjure up familiars or cast spells both helpful to them and a hindrance to their enemies so that they could enact a greater measure of defence.

Reynald whoever who was in the thick of the fight would not allow the battle to become to costly so that with a surge he came forward into the main press, at his side Vilkas and another few of his nord companions followed on so that he had good cover.

The dragonborn then took an emplacement at the very head of his force and with returning resolve shouted with his ancient power "_**Strun Bah Qo" **_so again the Wayrest force seemed to coil back in confusion, it seemed to them that no ill effects would be felt after no great force came forward.

Then though the day which had been clear skied and very pleasant if not for the battle became angry and twisted looking so that all looked up in shock and awe, one Wayrest soldier shouted then "Here comes Ebonarm and War Master" as if expecting the gods to appear. Instead fire and lances of lightening began to form before striking down around the dragonborn which sent the force of Wayrest recoiling away in terror.

The destruction was frantic with men on both sides being struck down but for the majority Wayrest soldiers so that they had no more desire to fight, fleeing by the dozen the dragonborn army came on in full force so that no more defence could be made; even by Zaric who himself got away by a byroad.

Reynald with his army smote their enemies then for some clear lengths before they where at the camp of Wayrest itself, with the storm gone the soldiers of Wayrest managed to make some form of determined defence so that the dragonborn army was turned away.

That night with the battle done the dragonborn army feeling supreme managed to collect the different trophies of their triumph from the field but Reynald himself forbade the interference of bodies by the penalty of death, letters where sent to Malek offering him the chance of collect his dead.

The redguard could only turn a hateful glare towards the direction of his adversary and strike his sword against the cot in his bed with impotent rage, in time he summoned his officers and one by one began to abuse them roundly.

Zaric who had spent the majority of the night entrenching their soldiers and building a defence against attack was the most reviled of all, having found out his conduct against the enemy leader in their private battle from a lesser noble Malek ordered the man out to be beheaded as a warning to the rest of his force.

Another officer who was quite fond of Zaric whoever said "the commander only acted in a way befitting that of a chivalrous person and maintained the defence against our enemy, he is also a favourite of the queen and key to the morale of the common soldiers; so it would be wise to spare him", this seemed less severe than Malek would have wanted but he then relented, having Zaric tossed into the encampment jail as punishment instead.

Two days passed then as the wounded and near death where treated on either side of the lines, Reynald then knowing that his enemy was impatient and easily riled conspired to finish of the battle.

The following day runners where sent to offer battle to Malek and his reduced force but the redguard would hear nothing of battle, instead relying on the defensive in the hope that his enemy would attempt an assault on his position.

More days went by however and no attack seemed coming, but instead as the days passed more and more soldiers from Reynald's force came around to abuse their defeated opponents. The chants and jeers became more and more filthy as the days went on with the queen, her dead husband and the mother of Malek becoming the brunt of the Reynald's men's slurs.

He could only suffer the indignities as his army slowly regained some semblance of order, on one of the few days that the enemy did not come by to taunt Malek sent out a small scouting party to look over the enemy position. There they found a poorly maintained camp with many soldiers appearing intoxicated and ill at attention.

The scout party returned and told their leader all of this, he could barely contain his glee before then a party of what looked to be deserters came upon his main camp.

These men where lead in after some interrogation and then told Malek "After the victory our former leader has taken himself to wine and baseless tastes, he has sent those soldiers encamped around his own position off to gathered more supplies and women", this to Malek seemed like even better news and on pressing the men for why they left, he was shown by their apparent leader some numerous vicious whip marks crisscrossing across his back and shoulders.

"The bastard had me whipped for refusing to slay a fellow soldier in a petty fistfight" he explained with great hatred upon his face and within his voice.

Malek then ordered the men to be fed and watered before then telling off a great portion of his own force to ready themselves for a night attack, now healed Malek lead the main force towards Reynald's camp head on while he commanded Astien and another commander to encircle the main camp of the dragonborn.

These deserters where emplaced as guides to each force and as night fell the trio of troops made off, horses where muzzled and cloth tied within their own mouths so that they made not a sound on approach.

Then everything seemed good as Malek made his way towards Reynald's camp without even a little resistance, he stalled then and awaited the signal in the sky from Astien and Perrick who commanded his other forces before then attempting to smash into Reynald's own position.

On the path they found trenches and emplacements deserted so that Malek made a great foray into Reynald's own campground even, but on finding such a scene the redguard became increasingly paranoid and turned his force away in confusion.

Just then an explosion of Magicka was seen behind the triple force of Wayrest and without introduction on came the foot soldiers of Reynald's who had been hiding in the woods behind their own camp. Now neither Perrick nor Astien was weak minded so that both men turned their horses and with their men behind rushed in and began an awkward melee with the ambushers.

None could be seen to hold the appearance of the dragonborn so that both men with their forces pushed on and managed to force their enemies back, then they thought they had their enemy beaten but could not make out numbers within the dark of night.

Malek himself had held his horse back to await the outcome; but seeing no more problems he then rushed in to the battle and reinforced the position of his allies, everything seemed to go well until then as they made yet another surge forward more explosions sounded until it was as if the twin moons themselves where coming down around the camp.

From the outcroppings of rock and trees that surrounded the camp out came the other portions of the dragonborn army that while small where in a great position to flank Malek and his men. They came on quickly so that Malek was forced to turn his own force and fight off a desperate attack form either side of the camp.

Then out of the dark of night came on a mighty looking warrior bearing the signature armour of Reynald who with some few other riders cut into the redguard's force and reached his personal guard, all of them seemed fearful of his great power so that Malek fled away to try his luck again.

Even then when he met some success at getting free another warrior; wearing that very same armour seemed to appear out of thin air and cut into his force so that his chief enemy seemed something beyond a man.

"Retreat" he ordered then and with a great dash cut his way free with no small amount of effort, having been struck on the back with a hammer so that he was rearing in pain. Behind him the force of Perrick and Astien were enclosed so that both men with few followers attempted to get themselves free of the press.

Astien who was wearing thick plating and held a heavy hammer in hand managed to beat his way through; receiving three arrow wounds and a broken wrist in the process, while Perrick was found and cut to pieces. The surviving leader got to safety with not a surviving guard behind while Malek himself made for his camp at the greatest speed possible.

It seemed that while the battle was a failure the leader was free to take a shortcut back to the safety of his camp, but all was not ended then for as Malek and his few men got within distance of their camp out from a rock face came another force who were not his own.

Within the group even in the dark of night the telltale signs of the dragonborn could be seen, with his horned armoured standing out amongst the fur hides and rough steel of his companions. There where even numbers so that neither side would have the advantage in that fashion, but Malek had heard of this great shouting ability to immediately he made to flee.

"You're my prisoner already" Reynald shouted then as Malek and his group sped off in an attempt to round the opposing force, they got within a few lengths before Malek who was at the head saw with horror his steed being struck in the head with an arrow so that it tossed him into the ground below.

Only a few of his men remained and all where spent so that the companions turned them away with only a few short moments of resistance, Malek himself had attempted to raise himself up but then Reynald came on and sent a blaze of fire at the redguard so that he was sent howling to the ground in pain.

Defeated and alone the Wayrest commander was quickly hauled up and bound so that it was easy to toss him over a horse and make off back towards the camp that had only recently been engulfed in a battle, not a one escapee could be seen in the distance from the one camp to the other showing the success of the ambush planned by Reynald.

Now captured and with his force almost completely destroyed Malek was sent to the jail of the dragonborn camp while Reynald and his men settled prisoners and settled their defences for the night.

The fate of the defeated leader and how it would affect the siege of Farrun would not be discovered until the following day.

* * *

><p>Ok well i have to say i did enjoy writing that chapter and i hope the action and battle scenes put across what i wanted them to, i.e. showing that the Dragonborn is not just a one trick pony but has some quality as a leader of men, where as other leader's for example those of Wayrest can be quick prone to failure due to their own personalities.<p>

Anyway i hope you enjoyed and again both praise and critisim is welcomed, thanks.


	9. The Setting of a Larger Stage

**_Warden Commander of Par Vollen:_ **To be honest i have noticed that and it appears strange that so many people want someone as powerful as a Talos toting demi-god to constantly be interested in romance; thieves guild etc despite their far ranging effect on the entirity of the empire of man. Well i do believe it's a reasonable objective; and in relation to his actions with the blades and Paarthurnax well that will be revealed further on, also so will that chapter title and it's significance as things go on.

On the final request well something like that of course could come along in the future; but anything like a potential wife for the DB is a long way from finalized in my head.

**_Anarade Relle:_**I appreciate the fact that you liked the attention to the campaign itself; and the fact that i presented all the minor details as to how the Dragonborn goes about his empire grabbing as it is. In this chapter i've also attempted to flesh out some of the characters however i will say that it will take some time to do so with all those i've introduced; provided what role they take and how critical they are etc. In relation to the outlying issues such as the council that effect Reynald's campaign i'll perhaps signal them out into their own mini chapter or something like that.

**_chippermovie:_** Yes i do agree with you and with **_Lord Europe _**that perhaps i've been abit too involved with the external semi-important characters i suppose i should call them, and in this chapter i've kept it more centralised on the dragonborn who is of course the main character. I might perhaps see how the reviews go for this sort of chapter style and if it's good i'll attempt to figure out how to mould a story round more character driven chapters; while at the same time leaving some small footnotes for outside influences.

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><p>In the month of last seed it had always been that settlements from the high rising palaces of Evermor to the lowest of farmers on the reach border had prepared for the winter ahead. Crops where pulled; cut and gathered while lords and ladies of the court would buy in the newest fashions of furs and pelts in order to steel themselves against the harsh winters their respective corner of the empire provided.<p>

War however was something that almost certainly disrupted this normality; with only the settling of the kingdom of Orsinium having stopped such concerns in the fourth era, the emergence of the dragonborn with his army of nord and breton warriors once again threatened to disrupt the harmony however.

It appeared though that even as the Wayrest force fled from their camp; with little more than enough supplies to return them safely to Evermor that this would not be the fate awaiting the region. Instead of a marauding army of berserkers and bandits the terrified farmer's of the expanse found themselves subject to proclamations and promises handed down from the highest authority of the now sizeable force, only the passes and recesses that provided advantage to Reynald were under subdugation.

No fields where trampled or burned; horses and women where left untouched while threats such as brigands and robbers where found and settled by the seemingly justice bound soldiers of the dragonborn army. As the tranquillity was enforced throughout their zone of control the victors of the recent large scale battle took up residence within the abandoned camp of Wayrest, who had left behind all their stores and materials while fleeing the field.

All then seemed good within the occupied camp of Reynald's army then as soldiers drilled diligently, order was strictly maintained and a palisade was erected around each point of attack so that a forthcoming attack would favour the defenders.

Within the centremost tent of the camp that held Reynald's quarters however; which was encircled by the captured baggage train the Dragonborn fretted, the reason presented before him on one day like many preceding it.

Seated on a spartan seat reserved for the previous commander was Reynald, like most days when he expected no combat the High Rock native was without his impressive suit of dragon armour, instead he was garbed in a simple brown cloak; thin cottons overlapped with chainmail along with an ornate necklace that signified his devotion to the hero-god Talos.

Directly facing his seat where four soldiers who were set apart in pairs but held the resemblance of fellow soldiers; based on their colours and similar armour, two had their scabbards empty and their mail stripped down to signify their recent seizing; while the second pair behind stood at attention without expression, one hand on their respective swords and captives it seemed.

Reynald even without his feared armour was a sight to behold; with his usually agreeable features being etched with a look of cold fury at those two on trial before him, at either side of him was also a person of importance that only helped strike apprehension and even downright terror into the two offending soldiers.

On his left was his now ever present captain Detritus, who had been elected by Reynald to look over the everyday running of his camp when other matters consumed his own attention. The reason for him adding to these two offenders tension was that of the breton's fierce looking appearance, coupled with his strict judgement and equally quick temper.

He was a man of some great family reputation and notable training so that he was already well known to most, but with his sturdy nordic like build; troll sized shoulders and a severe face the man was the terror of any pretenders or would be hero's within the ranks.

He was never seen without his equally fearsome looking evlin scimitar or the intermingling plate and chain armour that covered his body, something that was only broken up by the navy-gray colours of his family that where covering his plated chest.

The figure to his right however while no less challenging was far less imposing at first glance, a dunmer of some shockingly destructive capability hidden behind a dark cloak; ever probing blood red eyes and an expressionless demeanour. A chief confidant to the dragonborn who was at his side seemingly at all times despite being completely unknown to any other, the dunmer including Aranea Lenith where a race more maligned than respected in those sorts that Reynald had brought together.

It was Detritus who spoke first with a growl saying "these are the two accused of the trouble at Heraldsford, one farmer is raving about how the eldest tried to rape his daughter; while the younger gave his son a nasty crack in the head", this report like the others before it had been met by the steely glare of Reynald, who had since the passing of the last battle taken on all disputes that warranted more than the usual punishment of the stockade.

"Attempted rape of a simple; hard working farm girl and assaulting her brother, most likely in her defence I assume" Reynald repeated in a voice far too neutral for the words spoken making both men avoid his piercing eyes, nervously both accused men shifted their feet before Reynald followed up saying "Tell me why".

At first neither man spoke for a time; with either looking at their leader as if they were badly behaved children facing an angry father, however in time the youngest of the pair who looked barely out of his teenage years spoke in a feeble voice "in our defence sir, we were merely passing by the place when we decided to try for some ale at the local inn, but the people where rude and treated us with no respect", this excuse was added to then as the older soldier who looked weathered and wretched spoke hurriedly himself.

"The girl was a harlot and led me on to her father's stables; when we were caught by her brother he attempted to kill me with a barn tool while she cried rape, what else could my we do" he said in a voice that was accented with the coarse tongue of the local sort, Reynald having been raised in some measure of poverty before joining the army was sure he knew the sort this man was immediately.

"Are there any witnesses to this" Reynald asked the imposing figure to his left while fighting of the weary resignation that accompanied such matters, it was becoming a common trait of his newly formed army that their indiscipline eroded away whatever goodwill he attempted to gain within the reach.

Being able to shout down fortresses or slay the mightiest of dragons was no consolation for the dragonborn.

"None save the villagers, it seems these two broke off from their patrol" Detritus stated with a face that suggested he wished to dish out any forthcoming punishment himself, something both men appeared well aware off if their refusal to meet his gaze was anything to go by.

Now Reynald was met with a tough decision; for his own mind was made up to punish these men so that no other would dare break the rules he had imposed, but the morale of the army was another thing entirely. To take the word of some farmers over his own soldiers was to invite resentment amongst his men, his hands where effectively tied.

"You two have been told like the rest to mind the people around you and to do no damage" Reynald said with some anger seeping into his voice while fixing the pair with a contemptful glare, "yet you have went and injured an innocent farmer, brought disdain from a settlement upon my name and all of this; was from absconding from your patrol duties" the dragonborn then accused.

Neither man seemed to have anything to argue so Reynald continued "I cannot prove the claim of attempted rape, and if I could I would have both your heads up on stockade as a warning; instead you'll face twenty lashes with a short arm and a full moon in the stockade", the punishment immediately made both men pale and began to sputter out in excuse, Detritus however quickly stepped in to silence them.

"I'll have both your heads if another word is uttered; now bring these two to the stockades and administer the punishment" the abnormally bulky breton barked causing both guards to snap too and haul the offending soldiers away, Reynald's face was hard until the moment they exited his tent by the thin white flap.

On leaving however the face of the champion of Tamriel became more downcast that anything else, it was weary resignation more than anything that filled the dragonborn at the height of the day.

"These reachmen are nothing but untrained dogs, I'd wager myself against any score of them" Detritus told Reynald with disgust coating his tone, regardless of his self admitted high station in his home realm this particular breton held none of the political traits of other high born mermen; he was all fire and steel which Reynald and his nord comrades respected greatly.

"I know this only too well; I've got too many brawlers and bandits hiding behind my banner to do anything with, the imperial garrisons would make short work of them" Reynald surmised aptly, for many of his confidants both nord and breton alike had complained about the lack of overall resolve within his local ranks.

"What can you do now champion, the dye is already cast" Aranea stated; having spoke for what seemed like an eternity in the presence of Detritus thought, himself being yet another who was distrustful of the dunmer and her equally mysterious past.

Reynald neither cared nor noticed the wary look the breton shot towards the dunmer as he himself shifted in his seat; before then standing up and stalking around the confines of the tent. Idly he picked up a sword he kept close by his small cot and examined the newly sharpened straight blade, keen and finely honed.

"This blade represents what my army should be" Reynald said to those two behind him still at attention, thinking the same thoughts for days yet having no way to combat the unease he felt, "keen and ready for action; but not splitting the scabbard, A winter of inaction will kill of this army" he then said much to the agreement of both his helpers, each held their own ideas on what action to take however.

Detritus who was forever the military man intoned aggression as he had in days past, "Evermor is a well defended fortress; but her army has just felt a severe check and she is reliant on outlying settlements for the granary's, why not collect your army and make a rapid advance" he advised with some conviction; with Reynald knowing in his military mind that this attack could just cut off the head of Wayrest.

One look to Aranea dissuaded him however as she argued "Evermor is a city surrounded by settlements filled with respect and oaths to the queen of Wayrest, if you attack now the whole of the kingdom will come together to smite you together" which was the other thoughts of Reynald; who knew she would make that very case, it was the very example of checks and balances for him now in his actions.

He could march forward and conquer Wayrest expending men; materials and goodwill until what he hoped was a decisive victory, but what remained with him where the thoughts that Wayrest like the remainder of the empire were men, neither thalmor nor their subjects.

It would serve him no good now to match his own waning strength against the now fragile Wayrest, for pushing his advantage would most likely undo all that he had accomplished.

"I need more soldiers to conquer; yet all I'm left with is fodder for anyone who takes offence to my rising, if only these reachmen met the quality of their leaders" the dragonborn said in a sullen voice, he knew better than most that he needed Wayrest to fall into line with him.

Then however like many other days he was then left undecided; unsettled and very much insufferable, turning to his de-facto battlemage he said "prepare the courtyard for some magical sparring, I wish to work on these new techniques", the leader of the some hundred strong army dropped out of his cloak then; eager to relieve tension through the exhausting training he often submitted himself to under Aranea.

This was of course one of the key reasons why he had chosen the dunmer to be such a close ally to himself, unconstrained by the oppressive rules of the Cyrodiilic authority; the elf had been privy to some of the banned practices within the realm of magicka and spell casting, her techniques outshone nearly all of that allowed under imperial dictation.

Now however would be the point where the days of inactivity and insufferable stillness would change for the dragonborn as the sounds of soldiers happened close by, filling the air together with the neighing of horses and their hoofs rebating of the dry; cracked ground their camp was settled upon.

None save his choice personal guard entered his enclosure without expressed permission or urgent business, causing the breton to eagerly march forward and make his way outside of his tent to find a group of scouts catching breaths between pants of exertion, they all were tough looking nord riders with little protection save some furs; while their weapons were similarly light on their backs as per directed by his close friend Aela.

"What is your report" Detritus asked to Reynald's left; himself just as eager for something to crop up it seemed, the lead figure who was the eldest of the group jumped off his steed nimbly and approached them despite looking twice the age of his commander.

"Caught sight of a wagon rushing its way here, colours where Wayrest; king's crest if I seen it right" he reported between periodic gaps that seemed to come along with his rough accent, immediately the minds of the three previous inhabitants of the tent where set alight with possibilities.

Reynald acted first unsurprisingly and commanded his men "Detritus find a mount and accompany these men out to meet the party, no hostility unless it is needed", the powerful breton accepted the order without question before ordering the closest rider off his horse, in moments Detritus leapt up onto the saddle and was away with those remaining trailing in his wake.

Reynald however was left with Aranea at his side; who followed him wordlessly inside his tent, he quickly adorned himself again in the cloak he had before discarded before turning to regard the dunmer, "what do you think will be" was the question.

As ever the dunmer had an answer, riddled somewhat as she told him "They will come seeking terms, whether it be for their captured general or something else; who knows"

Unfortunately for Reynald _what else _was all that he could hope for now as his men became restless and overbearing, he needed a resolution with Wayrest in order to promote his cause beyond the veiled reach expanse.

All he could do then was wait for whatever came for him though; idly he sat and wondered if the place that he had settled himself in was the right setting for such a meeting, all the finery and ornate fastenings of the former occupant of the tent having been sent off to the stockade with their owner himself.

That then meaning that all he had now to impress with was a small cot; a simple table with some eating utensils and himself, seated in the equally dull looking seat used by the former commander to delegate out responsibilities.

It gave all the look of a simplistic man with a keenly set mind on the matter of soldiering, something perhaps he should be eager to impose upon the minds of Wayrest's emissaries the dragonborn reasoned.

It mattered little then for soon enough the sounds of more horses, soldiers and the telltale grinding of carriage wells came close by to signal the arrival of his guests; with any slight nervousness masked behind a face of calm.

"I will receive them" Aranea said then before moving out beyond the concealing white walls of the tent to meet the new arrivals, some words that where muted by distance went unheard by Reynald before he was met with those of Wayrest.

The person to enter slightly ahead of Aranea was a man of some forty years who was quite clearly a breton as revealed by his waifish build and the slender; elfish slightness of his facial features. Adorning him was an expensive emerald robe with accompanying jewellery that matched his well kept auburn mane; all of which signalled towards the appearance of a nobleman.

"Greetings Reynald Manis; I've come from Evermor on behalf of queen Carolyna, in order to negotiate on her behalf" the emissary stated in a cherry voice; not seeming to have any reservations upon his pleasant face.

"My name is second only to my titles emissary, which is champion of Tamriel; slayer of the world eater and as such your saviour" Reynald said through a growl in response, eager to press upon the man to test his character, "Why is it that you do not salute".

The response was neither withering nor hostile from the emissary "My name is Julien Luitte; and my family is one of the four pillars of the kingdom, tell me why should I salute an inferior person", was the question which were uttered in front of only Reynald and the ever composed Aranea would have surely meant for a quick death if Detritus; Farkas or any of his other hot blooded soldiers where present, instead Reynald fixed the man with a look of failed amusement and veiled anger.

"Titles and family histories don't count for much when facing the keen edge of a sword Julien Luitte, do you wish to test the cut of mine" he asked while fingering the hilt of the sword he had purposely placed between his mailed legs, the act of suggestive violence appeared to faze the diplomat little however.

"I hold no desire to face your acclaimed wrath" the elder of the pair said; still seeming somewhat smug and unperturbed, it both annoyed and impressed Reynald greatly.

"Then why come here" the dragonborn bluntly asked, the response was as quick witted as the man from Wayrest had managed this far.

"I come as a persuader" Julien said much to Reynald's surprise, which again was masked beneath an outward expression of displeasure.

Now Reynald wasn't going to let himself become undone by the glib tongued speaker, saying then with his own small smile "I say you come here owing to the fact that while I am strong; your kingdom is weak, while I myself am a legendary warrior your queen is but a shade on a secondary throne, your army is defeated and despised; while mine is filled with victory and eager for more notes within the annuals of history, what is to stop me forcing a march on Evermor and reaching for your kingdoms throat".

The question seemed to stall the response of the emissary but only for a moment; as he then replied with his own speech, "Now you sir while brave and full of vigour fancy yourself above your first station; eager to press your advantage against that of Wayrest, but I say in doing so you will find that freshly ground sword on your own head".

"How would such an event occur when I command a ready army; and the power of the hero-god himself" was Reynald's quick reply, which only allowed Julien to start.

"Now you speak of power and armies as if they where more than mere candles in the wind; for any man or mer can with the greatest dedication gain power beyond that of the normal type, or command a force that could settle a few hills and small kingdoms. Now; you as the self proclaimed saviour of man wish to avenge the divine Talos and resettle man above the mer; yet can this occur when you shun the noblest of houses and seek to injure the innocent that only wish for peace", With only a small breath the envoy followed spoke again.

"If you sir wish to achieve your highest calling and restore what you see is broken; then you can neither go forward and smite my queen nor sit idle and allow your army to linger, if either was to occur then you would find yourself unable to achieve your desire and restore Talos and his glory; how then could you look anyone in the face but with shame".

At that Reynald was faced with the reality that he expected none to gather as his most innermost concerns; so that his façade faltered and his face betrayed his raw nerves.

"Never had I thought an enemy of mine would see through me so easily" he admitted with a deep sigh, standing after a moment sword in hand Aranea was beckoned forward by her leader; who handed over the sword he had kept at his side.

"Have the guards bring in some comfortable chairs; refreshments and all that sort for our guests" Reynald asked the dunmer; who never one to balk at such a petty order went off to carry it out.

"I will only sit if you regard me as a fellow High Rock native, rather than an enemy" Julien said then to Reynald who readily agreed, in short time in came the dragonborn's soldiers who laid out some seats; hastily heated wine and their commanders favourite mead.

"The finest of all in Skyrim" the youngest of the now seated pair said with a fond smile, while his guest began to appreciate the scent of the wine he had been brought, "hardy like the nord's; a particular favourite of mine also" Julien told him with a smile, then after some refreshments both men soon got into the issue of the emissaries sudden appearance.

Reynald spoke first with his cup in hand and cloak now loose saying "If you as an agent of Wayrest are not an enemy then what does that make your kingdom; or your queen to my cause, would you really forgive all the men I have slain", the question was asked with not a little confusion; also being underpinned with the feeling that the injury caused to Wayrest was far too severe to be forgiven.

Julien seemed anything but cordial now though and within a comforting voice told Reynald "The queen is a dear friend of mine; and even though I am the most useless of men her late husband confided her to my care, now after having her army so soundly defeated she was fearing further damage by your skilled hand", the term of persuader now became evident to Reynald.

"So that is why you came here, to stop me from forcing a siege on your city" Reynald asked; however rhetorical the question was due to the sureness of his voice, Julien answered with a small nod.

"I came today and attempted to gauge your character in order to see what sort of man you are, which was the reason of all my haughty words before" the Wayrest agent then said with some honesty, on the same vein he then said "I find myself facing a man who is not only brave but eager for peace just as quickly; I come to offer you a pact between your cause and my queen"

Now that came as a genuine surprise to Reynald who had never thought that such a thing would occur; never in all his years did he think the stubbornly independent Wayrest and her queen would have such a pact.

"Why would your queen hold a pact with me, alliance with my sort would bring the wrath of the empire down upon your kingdom" asked Reynald with some genuine inquistiveness; only in the most hopeful moods did he think that Wayrest was so hard pressed to be so brash.

Julien told him "In truth the defeat of the army at your hands has meant more that what should be expected, after it was heard the imperial aide to the court rushed off to inform Daggerfall and their imperial suitors of your victory", now this was the only thing told to Reynald from the man that showed any inclination of negative feeling from the man; something he could agree upon, imperial dignataries were regarded as pompos scum even by those in the legion.

"So they will use it as an excuse to impose further levies upon Wayrest then; to pay for an imperial garrison that will erode your army still further" the dragonborn posed to Julien, who answered with a resigned sigh.

"You have touched upon the trouble of my home; and my queen" answered Julien who then said after a noticeable pause "But you must know that we cannot afford an outright alliance; instead we would wish to sign a secret treaty with your army"

"A secret treaty" Reynald balked; again mystified "What would this involve, and just how could I hold you to your word" he then asked with some doubt, Julien seemed unfazed by his words however.

"The bay is not as settled as it once was and the kingdoms on either side of the bay are either pulling against or away from the imperials, but my queen cannot afford to put herself so firmly against the imperials" Julien answered only leading to a further question

"What do you offer then" Reynald said hoping for something more palpable than small words and concessions, he was greeted then by Julien summoning in someone from beyond the veil of the tent.

"My queen offers some security to her promise of non-aggression while you try your hand against the imperials" Julien told Reynald, before the other entered who had travelled along with the emissary.

Reynald who sat facing the tent flap was the first to catch sight of this second guest; and he was immediately transfixed then, due to this person looking no more a diplomat than the dragonborn himself.

Instead Reynald was faced with a youthful woman who he guessed was only at adulthood; with a face and body that looked sculpted to match Dibella herself. She was both slender and voluptuous which was evident even while she was hidden under a fine; ebony cloak and under lying cerulean dress.

This was only added to by full lips; bronzed skin and rich auburn tresses that competed against striking emerald eyes for a determining figure of beauty upon the girl, the dragonborn wisely after a long moment took a breath and replaced the look of wonder that had engulfed his face.

"May I present princess Isabella; queen Carolyna's own sister" Julien said in his rich voice with a little pomp; forced or not, Reynald immediately stood and offered a coarse hand to the woman who became relegated to the junior of the room.

"It's a pleasure princess; though I don't see how this is a place for one such as yourself" Reynald greeted with all the charm he could muster, his hand however was accepted behind what appeared to be a look of barely concealed disdain on the otherwise exquisite face.

"I am here so you do not attack my sister's kingdom; and kill more honest men of the realm" was the reply that seemed to stiffen Julien to the point of his face being froze; with Reynald managing to force an easy smile across his face despite the barb.

"Please forgive the princess; she is young and imprudent" the elder pleaded after another tense moment; where Reynald's face could either hold a wry smile or ill ease, the dragonborn shrugged Lucien off however and instead turned to sit again.

The dragonborn then held out a hand offering those seats that had been brought in for the guests, both took a seat even while the younger held that same look of barely veiled contempt, "I take no offence to such a comment emissary; after all I have caused some very real pain to your realm, I wonder why your queen didn't allow her sister command rather than your man Malek however" the dragonborn said after a moment in good humour; appreciating the girl's scorn for what it was; righteous.

She did not appreciate her host as much though as she appeared to not falter from that same look, Julien attempted to press on though saying "My queen offers her sister in the role as a political hostage, to be held in one of those cities of your choosing so that you know how serious she is about peace".

"And how do you feel about this arrangement princess" Reynald asked quickly before he was met by the answer expected of any dutiful servant, sister or not.

"I serve my queen in whatever way I can" was the deadpan reply with Reynald's respect for the girl's audacity only increasing two fold then, but he would hardly had taken such an arrangement.

It was not secret that he himself had been pulled away from his family at a young age; forced from seeing his kin in by-weekly trips from Daggerfall to years passing in the service of the legion all across the imperial borders, he would not force such a fate on another so lightly.

"No I think we can come to a better arrangement than that" he told the pair; letting them hold a breath for a moment before offering "I say that this lady is far too ill-tempered; and far too stunning to waste away in some dreary northern keep, while the queen and i are only bound by circumstance. I require another hostage of yours Julien"

The emissary then with slight nerves asked who he would require with the answer being "I wish for the services of the champion of yours; not to mention some paltry offer of alliance, even if it is under secret terms".

"You mean Zaric; he has been discredited by the one you now hold and all his colleagues within the court, and again I must say that my queen cannot afford to show you any aid" the diplomat replied, Reynald was not to be moved however.

"You have the chance to save your queen's sister from the role of a hostage; in reply for a man you say yourself is of no use while disgraced, if he comes with me and conquers that he will become your champion, and when accompanied by some small but steady measure of grain a way in which Wayrest benefits in every way. Can you not but accept", at that Julien could no longer resist; and having been given room to negotiate terms by a trusting queen he agreed much to the hidden delight of Reynald.

The dragonborn was all too eager then to call forward Aranea and issue her with certain instructions; the two guests of his meanwhile stood up and exchanged salutes.

"The day is getting late; and the roads and passes are filled with bandits, can I offer you my private enclosure for the night" Reynald asked the pair who of course had travelled many leagues in few days, Julien was more than eager to accept such an offer but then the princess intervened.

"My sister needs to know what happened here today; we don't need to waste anymore time here resting when we could be travelling" she said with a finality, Reynald merely nodded in response before then calling in a guard of his who; like the rest was standing close to the Wayrest guards waiting outside the enclosure.

"Have the prisoner released and ready to go with the carriage" he ordered while awaiting the return of his dunmer companion, who soon returned with a small intricately designed box in hand that looked well aged despite its obvious years.

From inside Reynald took out a necklace of some easily discernable quality; made from what looked like the finest silver, intermingled with a gold filling and a prominent diamond at the pendent. He presented it to the princess; who accepted it with some inquisitiveness at the flare of pure light that coursed through it at her touch.

"A relic that I found while scoring some long forgotten palace; and enchanted with the most potent of restoration" he explained when it was in the princesses hands, saying then "It offers the most potent forms of regeneration and sustaining energy; so that it's owner is granted extended vitality and life, a gift for your queen and a symbol of our alliance", then appearing more appeased than when she entered Isabella offered a small; half sincere smile before moving to exit the tent.

Julien however stayed for a moment later and offered the dragonborn one final salute before moving off to exit the tent, before he did stopping short and quietly saying "I have someone who wishes to meet you; who had heard of your victory and wishes to offer you the sort of help you may need".

At this Reynald gave him a questioning look and beckoned him to tell him more; instead he was given a small measure of paper before the emissary moved out of the tent, Reynald quickly opened the piece of paper that read:

_Another diplomat will arrive to attempt peace with your cause, signal a flare before the second watch and look to the west most point of your camp for his arrival_.

Scrunching the note up Reynald walked outside of his camp to find the battered looking Malek being ushered towards the carriage; looking both vehement and dejected as two guards roughly pushed him forward.

Neither Julien nor the princess appeared to pay him more than short attention as he boarded the carriage, itself fit to maintain the dignity of the princess and leave room for the other occupants. She followed close behind with Julien; then again giving him a look to board before disappearing completely.

Their guards then reigned in their horses and took position around the carriage that was sent on its way by the guards, it continued on until out of sight by the dragonborn who was then gathered around by the few men of note he had within the camps.

This only included Detritus; Aranea and the lesser involved Uccaren who all were trusted to responsibility among his higher reaches, he immediately ordered his battlemage to prepare the signal while his other men where called too him for other matters.

"Prepare the men and signal for the companions, we have another visitor coming tonight" he ordered; before then marching himself for the armoury adjoining his own tent to prepare for more events.

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><p>Now it had been but the first watch when Aranea with her signal had been sent into the sky; so that Reynald could meet this mysterious visitor that his seeming ally in Wayrest had prescribed to him.<p>

The dragonborn stood himself around the simple table adjoining his cot with Uccaren and Detritus settled around it also; both armed and eager like their leader to see what was afoot for them.

Now each man had settled for speaking on the various problems and grievances between the outlying camps and the errant nature of the army gathered ; it all appeared however that the imminent news of Wayrest's albeit secretion declaration of peace would settle most things much to their relief.

"As soon as we get whatever confirmation from Wayrest that they agree; I'm placing these witless dogs on double drilling" Uccaren told both his sworn friend and Reynald who both appreciated his skill as a trainer, the leader and captain could only agree knowing the quality of those within the camps.

"I agree; we'll need to flush out the weak and the undisciplined for our further campaigns, we'll need to find better soldiers" said Detritus; agreeing with the only mixed race member of Reynald's inner circle, Uccaren being more imperial than breton with his stocky frame; portly face and dark mane of hair.

"I'll send word to Ulfric when the next opportunity arises; for now we focus on causing further discord abroad" Reynald reminded them; preferring to focus now on plans of subterfuge rather than sourcing soldiers given the upcoming winter, he knew of times past in Skyrim how harsh winters would demoralise and tax an army.

For their part the two men agreed while planning to carry out their duties; towards drilling out the weedy and enlisting more capable sorts where they could be found, both where content to wait with their leader until they were met by some news.

It came after a short while with the same rushing of horses that had allowed him notice in the morning past; with the march of heavy boots in a pair sounding forward Reynald and his men prepared for the new comers as they approached the tent, the sound of such armour surprising them.

Both persons where stopped at the tent by two guards always present at the entrance of the tent; who wouldn't allow entrants even with Aranea present unless prior word was given, Reynald called out however so that they were brought inside.

Both figures where cloaked in the same dark robes and featureless hoods as the adjoined Aranea who had received them, however the similarities ended then with the newcomers being around three heads taller than the dunmer and some ways broader; with noticeable heavy weapons bulging out from beneath their tapestry sized robes.

All three men could immediately tell where these _elves_ rather than men would hail from before their hoods where drawn down, and as they did they were greeted by hard; stone coloured faces that were matched only in intensity by their amber eyes and a pair of upturned; prominent fang like teeth.

Orcs that where some of the largest any of them had seen; with brutal looking orcish armour and relatively small maces hanging at their waists, both appeared ready to deal with any threat that would greet them on the roads tonight.

The orc who was the most prominent of the pair; with a white style of war paint and a marshalled beard stepped forward with his hands offered up in greeting, Reynald without hesitation stepped forward and met it with his own; then being engulfed by the huge grip of the orc.

"I am Xzul gro-Yarzol; this is my fellow warrior Durz gro-Wzgurn" the warrior said in a gruff tone introducing his smaller; younger looking companion who indicated his head in greeting, "I bring greeting from the kingdom of the orcs; and our king Shura Dul gro-Yargus, and an offer for the leader of this host".

Now none could have foreseen such an offer so that all were surprised; but behind tight faces that looked upon the two orcs with neutrality, Detritus and Uccaren hoped within themselves that the orcs of orsinium and a shared look only confirmed the anticipation of the other.

Reynald meanwhile asked simply "What is this offer", with the orc Xzul replying "He wishes to meet with you upon the mount of our lord Malacath, so that he can gauge your quality and decide your worth"

Now either man of Reynald was eager to protest at such an offer and the pretence of the statement; but the dragonborn intercepted first and with more tact asked "Why determine my worth; or gauge my quality, what does your leader seek from me" he asked with a neutral tone.

Now the lead orc who was clearly by his age and attitude in a superior position answered in the same rough tone saying "I only deliver this message and no other; I will present you with this map towards his camp", with that his hand reached inside the folds of his gauntlet and with cautious eyes from Reynald's men produced a curl of paper.

The dragonborn was not so easily swayed however " I'm the dragonborn that sent Alduin the world eater from this realm with my own will and shout alone, your king does not command me orc" Reynald said with a passion; with his hand not straying towards the blade at his side even as the orcs visibly bristled, however after a moment Xzul relented and spoke again.

"My king has heard of your great defeat of Wayrest; and how you met your enemy in single combat and beyond with your power, he wishes to seek alliance" was what the imposing orc then said with as much sincerity one could expect from an orc such as he, impressed as he was by more strong words from Reynald.

Now that said; and with the dragonborn knowing of the orcs strong sense of personal honour he was only inclined to accept such an invitation, without any uncertainty following he told his guests "I will accompany you then to your leader with my own warriors, we'll move out on the break of dawn"

The lead orc on hearing this only offered a simple approval before asking for some temporary lodging for the remaining night; to which Reynald could only agree, with that accepted the orcs where shown away leaving only the dunmer mage Aranea and breton captain Detritus to his side; Uccren having been nominated to find suitable placement.

"These orcs are powerful warriors and of a large number still reside in their province, having them on our side would make the whole of High Rock take notice" Detritus advised and half warned, which Reynald could only agree with. Aranea however advised more caution to her champion.

"The king of Orsinium is subject only to the will of Malacath; to meet this orc would be to subject yourself to the whim of the daedric prince" she told him, which was something that he did not fully understand given the nature of those within such ranks.

The dragonborn however was such that while appearing diplomatic and accommodating; was really only bathed in a veneer of such appearance to promote himself to willing allies and sway enemies to his cause. Beneath all this was a determination that even dared to surpass the designs of Malacath himself if need be, and a will to destroy his servants if they acted against him on behalf of his enemies.

"The nine divines protect and shield me; so that I fear no daedric prince nor their servants" Reynald told her with steadfast conviction, the priestess of Azura appeared more convinced of the power of the daedric prince however.

"I will pray to the queen of dusk and ask for her protection on your newest quest guardian" she told him then; before excusing herself then and removing herself from the tent.

Reynald was left with his two men then and told them through something bordering exhaustion that they themselves would make the defence of his camp, his companions much to the dismay of the pair gathered would be accompanying the dragonborn leader on his journey while they stayed to safeguard the camp; and hold the discipline of the men.

Given their orders they left their leader then with nothing but the past events of the day to occupy his mind.

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><p>Not my best chapter and surely not enough action to occupy the brain; but that will all be following in the next, thoughts ?<p> 


	10. The Pariah Folk of the Sworn Oath

**_Warden Commander of Par Vollen:_**Yes well due to the orcs being throughout the era's pariahs and without any favour from the empire; it would seem more than logical as to why they would come into a rebels plans; the same could be said for any of the kingdoms however that'll not be for more chapter's still. Also thanks for that; their names are based upon certain historical characters i liked during some ancient conflicts; they will be involved much like the other secondary characters as things progress.

_**Whisked:**_On all accounts thank you it's always good to get praise; though i'll take both points inot account on the basis of character development and military aspects, both will hopefully be expanded upon within this chapter though not too much just yet.

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><p>On the 15th day of last seed; within the dragonborn camp that had so recently became a hive of activity, silence reined where once training drums had been beat; and the usual rushing and drilling of foot soldiers was replaced by the low sounds of occasional sentries patrolling the grounds of the camp.<p>

The lack of activity had been down to Reynald believing the offer of Wayrest to be honest; and he had therefore allowed his men some measure of respite before the hard winter which was to come, one person among many who had originally followed the dragonborn from Skyrim knew however that he himself would not take advantage of such a thing.

It was Aela the huntress of the companions; who without any thought of her slightly ragged appearance marched her way towards the enclosure of Reynald's, fresh from a ride encompassing the whole of the night the veteran companion still wore the revealing furs and cloth that usually covered her slender frame; added to now by a thin layer of sweat from the hard riding she had just completed.

The only difference from her usual appearance was the lack of her signature bow; handed down through the companions and rumoured to have been carved from the legendary thousand span trees of Atmora, which had in itself made her a renowned figure within the fledging dragonborn army; it could after all allow her pierce the strongest of triple armours or catch a fleeing opponent from leagues away usually thought impossible.

She reached the outer gates of the small alcove and without a word passed the guards; most of them nord and had followed the original companions when the call to arms had been rang out, only Aela and the other veteran companions commanded as much respect as the dragonborn in the eyes of the nord warriors.

Now she only paused for the guards directly outside his tent to announce her; with hardly a moment passing before Reynald allowed her entry, she ducked under the tent flap and quickly came to rest her eyes on the man she called harbinger.

Now instead of being seated within the throne chair; or stood upright and imposing the dragonborn was instead hunched over at the table he had been using as his personal office, their was no dragon armour covering his frame but instead a simple homespun cloak and similarly drab pants more fit for a peasant than a leader of men.

It made Aela remember her first; and equally dismissive impression of the breton, he seemed frail of heart; not what she would have considered handsome and most likely not enough of a warrior to grace the revered halls of the Jorrvaskr.

All that of course had been more than disproved in their time together, as for all his slightness of build their was his fearsome ability skill with a sword; his potency as a mage and of course his fearsome thu'um that all had combined to build his legend.

It hardly meant to be said what she thought of him as a prospective companion; or his mettle after all the things he had done, having slain countless dragons; Alduin the world eater himself; not to mention the few dozen silver bloods she had watched him personally eviscerate in their own personal quest of revenge.

The reason for the memory was that while the other prospective companions had toiled away in the training grounds; sparing and pushing their bodies to increase their composition this one time trainee had foregone the available advice, instead spending his time in the library and underequipped alchemy station in their under hall working on his spells and potions.

It was hardly a surprise that Farkas had taken offence and offered the seemingly disinterested manmer outside for a spar to 'ingrain some hardness into his soft skull', what had been surprising was the breton's ability to outwit and outfight the fearsome nord with just a single sword.

Reynald of course knew of her entry and having finished up some writing on a nearby document stood up from his seat to greet his fellow companion; who managed to avoid gazing at his uncovered chest that bore all the signs of a well disciplined soldier; hard and well developed as it was with accompanying blade and bolt scars to show his experience.

"I always wonder which of you will come to report; most of the time I'm disappointed to see those two brutes of brothers appear" Reynald said with an undisguised smile; half truthful in saying that he was disappointed not to have her report more often, rather than any dislike for his two nordic brothers.

Aela was as ever just as bashful as the dragonborn then "I'm too busy picking arrows out of my enemies; while those two are busy throwing the tankard around with you"; was the reply, which was hardly delivered with anything more than good humour, Reynald took no offence but rather crossed arms with the woman hand grasping the other's elbow and vice versa; so that they came together in a rough form of greeting passed down through the companion ranks.

Reynald could hardly miss the smell of exertion coming from the nord nor miss the signs of her being jaded from a long journey; it only reminded him of just how impressive this particular companion was, not one part of her lean body could be beaten by any of Vilkas's brawn; nor Farkas either for that matter.

She did however show the signs of weariness; with dark shades showing under her eyes along with a slight slump of her shoulders being noticeable, he himself had only caught a few hours rest before rising and beginning his early morning work; with his regular bottles of stamina rejuvenating potions at the ready for the day ahead.

"Well neither i nor those two will have much respite this winter anyway" he told her when elicited some genuine interest from Aela; always eager to get out into the field and deal some damage or mischief, "I have been given an audience with the king of the orcs; perhaps to have his army merge with my own, it's hardly surprising given how harshly the imperials have treated the orcs since their inception as a legal Province", now that was a surprise to Aela who for a moment lost that ever cocksure expression of hers.

She remained that way for a moment before asking "What of their alliance with Wayrest; this could be a trap to have you assassinated, it's not as if those filthy bluebloods are above such a thing", the question of course was one that had Reynald up from the early hours and without sleep; mulling it over though had left him to the same verdict however.

"If it's an assassination then the king; his would be assassins and anyone stupid enough to plot against me will follow the rest of my enemies not yet dealt with to the grave" Reynald told her with an easy smile; fully believing that he could deal with any threat presented, "You and twenty of our best will serve as my escort on the road" he then told her; which held some relief for her given the one man excursions he had been attributed with during his time warring with the dragons for the most part.

"and what will be the purpose of this meeting then; what of the army you have built up here" Aela asked; never on complete terms with the dragonborn's line of thought, even knowing that his immediate goal was to build a larger force and eventually challenge the heirs of the previous emperor.

He didn't disappoint of course offering out a hand to present her with the sight of four different pieces of paper; all sealed up and presented in along with four other tightly bundled rolls in the usual fashion of his orders, such as he was for presenting his force as an actual army due to his years within the legion, "Orders for Detritus; Kastus; Ulrich and another order to be sent back to Solitude for Ulfric's assistance" he then said; gaining a curious glance.

"What exactly are you planning, is this army of yours not meant to rest for the winter" she asked in confusion; having like most others with Reynald's ear heard from the dragonborn himself that the winter would be a time of peace, he was of course was quick to mould his thoughts according to the situation however.

He allowed her to know the inner thoughts of his mind saying "I have always been of the opinion that war should be conducted when the passes open and there is less disadvantage to an army on the offensive; such as we will be, however there are times when opportunity presents it like this offer from the orcs has; I can't miss it", at this the dragonborn went for the rolls presented on the table and quickly laid it out on the table; with Aela noting that their were many dozen different intricate annotations made surrounding the area of the mountain expanse of High Rock.

"Now the orcs are at a disadvantage with the imperials; due to the legion having taken up position within the old kingdoms forts throughout the wrothgarians, if they assault the imperial position they can quickly be out manoeuvred and helmed between Vermeir and Norvulk" Reynald then explained; with Aela noting that he himself had used an inkwell to draw a rough design of what looked like plankways and shortcuts within the mountain area of High Rock, she saw that indeed two settlements were present; one either side of the orc homeland.

"However if we ally with the orcs I can send men to outflank the imperial position; draw them out and away from their supply base, that done my main force can move out and put Norvulk under siege and stretch out their guard" Reynald explained with his hands tracing along the lines of the map quickly; following along with what he told her, "If their commander is who I think it is then he'll be aggressive and careless; ripe for the plucking".

Now Aela had yet to be let down by Reynald in any of his skills; whether it be his ability to slay the mightiest of dragons or talk down an imperial general; but the tasks he discussed seemed beyond the ability of his current force, he had neither the numbers nor the fighting men to take on the legion she thought.

A slight break of her usually steadfast resolve showed upon her war painted face; and she asked "Do you believe even with these orcs you can match the imperial legion; most of your men are poor soldiers at best, they will not fare well against a force such as the legion".

Reynald knew this well enough but told her instead "An army is only as good as it's commanderand the legion is no exception; who if I'm right is a legate by the name of Calvius Nebian, he is someone I know intimately; and someone I know I can beat if it comes down to a battle, if the orcs come to our side I'll get a victory", the dragonborn seemed confidant then; which only made Aela appreciate his assertive personality still further, she was however interested in how he knew this man so well.

"What makes you so sure harbinger" she asked simply; with Reynald then quick to tell her something of his past which he had for the most point left forgotten within the companion ranks, he picked up one of the illuminated green bottles and pulled free the cork; downing the pungent liquid in one.

Feeling more vibrant then and eager he explained; "As you know I was at one point within the ranks of the imperial legion; however despite what Tullius would have had people believe, I was a captain rather than some little known legionary; being groomed for the position of legate no less"; this was news to Aela of course; none within their ranks thought Reynald was anything more than some disillusioned legion, but he was and always had been secretive within his past.

"I was during my time as a captain posted on the wrothgarians, I fought side by side with Nebian and saved his life on more than one occasion due to his rashness; but we were more adversaries that friends. He was a colovian high born and I was a peasant from the low rungs of castle life" Reynald further explained with little in the way of scorn; but rather a small smile, "naturally he was bred for a high position; but I was the one who took general Vontus's eye; who in turn tasked me with defending the strategic points of the imperial base knowing Calvius was too impetuous for these tasks".

"So you know much of your enemy; is it enough to defeat the legion" Aela asked while eager to hear more of what Reynald had to say; always ready to hear more about his worthy past, he did not disappoint her then.

"It is always enough when you know your enemies character and design; then you can plan according to that" Reynald said with a hint of a practised rhetoric; his hands however skirted over towards a point that was some miles between the orc homeland and where he planned his diversion attack, "Here there is a valley known as the great gorge, named as such in an irony to it's small size; tight bottlenecks and tight passageways so that only two men at a time could fit through side to side, seemingly inconsequential. Yet this valley leads some ways under the wrothgarians and past any significant imperial guard if they would be enticed out".

Aela was at that unsure at what his was; and at the doubtful look Reynald set his finger at a small point yet further still upon the mount, "here is where the imperial garrison have their storehouses; due to it's level ground for animals to graze and easy access for carts to transport stores, if the imperial garrison was to be dragged out and only a small guard to be left at the guardhouse", the question hung in the air for only a second before Aela gave him a look of incredulity.

"How do you know it isn't blocked or guarded" she asked while mulling over the possibility; while wondering at the dragonborn's seeming good fortune once again.

"Because only three men knew of it; myself; general Vontus and another legionary known as Baeran" was the quick answer; filled with sureness "Vontus is long dead and only we two where tasked with building a natural defence to block up the entrance; we succeeded by forming up mortar and granite so that it would be impossible to be used by the orcs to get behind our lines". Of course this was met by yet more questions from the ever increasingly inquisitive Aela.

Reynald however saw that they had talked about a good many things of his plan and did not wish to give everything away; so he shrugged off her questions and instead sent her to ready the rest of her recently arrived companions saying "They are too fill their bags with potions and whatever supplies needed for some few days travelling, we'll get a proper rest at dawn's break".

Now that done and with some begrudging acceptance from Aela Reynald was left alone in his room; himself needing to prepare for the travelling ahead, thankfully as ever he was organised from the night previous so that his armour was laid out in the adjoining tent along with his saddle; newly ground sword and supply pack.

It was only too perfect as midway through his fastening he was met by a rushed guard; reporting that the orc guests of his were already reporting themselves ready and awaiting at his tent, settling the last few fastenings of his armour suit he then met the two imposing elves at the mouth of his tent.

Just like before they were as a pair enclosed in their armour; covering black cloaks with hoods up with only some of their dark features showing through, it was hardly a surprise to him that these orcs were so no nonsense, "I'll have my escort ready within the hour; you can rest in my tent until then" he told them both; with the obstinate elder orc Xzul gro-Yarzol blankly refusing before then announcing he would meet them at the mouth of the camp.

The two orcs took off without another word for their horses; which left Reynald with his guards who he quickly ordered off this way and that to summon his different advisors, again he set about preparing before those he had summoned came around to his own camp.

The first was Detritus who was never too far from his commander; and as ever was never without his armour and trusty scimitar, it spoke much for the discipline of the man who was first among his fellows in Reynald's new army.

"You are to remain in command here while I make for Orsinium and meet with the king Shura; I've left orders for yourself; Kastus and Ulrich to be acted upon with the agreed signal" Reynald told his man; who appeared to set his jaw a little at the news of his place here, "If I or my companions do not return by weeks end then your too go to my personal chest and find my last command there".

Detritus who in all his years of adulthood had been a soldier of the vanguard; resisted the urge to argue the point of his own inclusion in any advance party to the orcs, instead realising begrudgingly that he was most suited to keeping the main force in check.

"I will do as you command" he said simply with an incline of his head; then going in to receive the orders and setting about his way. As he did so Aranea who had also been summoned came into view looking much different than usual.

Instead of her usual dusk coloured robes Aranea had set upon wearing a glittering set of glass armour that was only present when she went into battle; adjoining this was a staff of some unknown application; along with an equally unique dagger resting upon her right hip, its material looking decidedly daedric with its fearsome red hue along the blade.

Passing without a word; but rather a crossed glance the breton levelled an appreciative glance at the dunmer's shape within the form fitting armour before setting his head back on course out of the enclosure; Reynald caught it and could guess his man's thoughts.

Dunmer were of course well known for their promiscuity and seen as something of an exotic taste within other races cultures; he was all too certain that Aranea removed herself from that sort of thing in her pursuit of Azura's blessing however.

She approached him and when getting within a foot or so told him abruptly "I have spent some hours sacrificing to our lady of the dusk; so that you may gain her protection as champion"; the Dunmer then pulled free the dagger at her belt and presented it with a quick flick of her wrist; demonstrating somewhat her familiarity with weapons of the sort.

Reynald took it without pause and was immediately surprised at how weightless the weapon felt in hand; stepping back he gave it two quick practise swings and again it was like the weapon was feather light, "I know something of summoning since my day's of youth; how is it I have never summoned a weapon so light; yet dangerous as this" he asked, while also being surprised that the weapon did not force itself back into oblivion upon the changing of hands.

Aranea told him "Many who summon from the realms of oblivion are without the favour of the prince's; yet you have gained the favour of the goddess, it will allow you some advantage since you lost your most potent weapon", on the comment Reynald remembered that his weapon that had been taken by Zaric of Wayrest on their last; and eventful meeting, it was true that the sword he now used was without his usual enchantments, neither did it hold the fine smithing skill evident in the Skyforges produce.

"I will keep it on hand then" he told her with a smile of courtesy; before summoning the guard nearest to him in order to get his own horse and another for Aranea brought forward, the order was then quickly rescinded as the stomp of hooves on the ground signalled an oncoming cavalry group.

It was hardly a surprise then that from the entrance of his camp riders some twenty in number came forward, at the head being the equally impressive; and irritated looking Farkas, "Glad to see we aren't at the beck and call of this orc king after every hard ride" he grumbled, gaining a rough slap in warning from Vilkas who was as ever saddle to saddle with his brother.

"Maybe you should give your tongue a rest brother" the more diplomatic of the brothers said; while doing his best to ignore the borderline murderous glare from his rough looking brother, "Bring the horses forward" he then commanded; having correctly guessed that Reynald and his ever present battlemage would need mounts.

Reynald took the lead first and easily swung into the saddle of a black haired horse he knew to be from the Skyrim born stock; then ordering his guards to bring forward his pack, "You have the way of a diplomat about your Vilkas" Reynald complimented, Farkas at that looked even more uneasy however.

"What of me then" he asked in mock displeasure; never really soft enough to feel such a veiled barb, the dragonborn was equally biting then.

"Your good when someone needs a good slaying; but you have the tact of a troll" was what Reynald said with an amused smile; then taking off at the head of his guard having been fitted each side with his supplies, the accused nord only grumbled a reply before falling in step with his harbinger.

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><p>Now as promised the two orcs that had brought Shura's offer were present at the entrance of Reynald's camp; and with that the dragonborn with his detail took off at full flight for the meeting with the illusive orc king. Now neither orc was much for conversation and instead treated Reynald and his guard with a form of distant avoidance; only saving to speak up when a danger was spotted or their sturdy mounts needed rest.<p>

It meant that on the first night when they had all settled down to rest around a campfire the nords with their dragonborn had taken up the majority of the campfire chatter; with the two orcs settled down beside them, for all their muted tones and cast down heads they might have been a thousand leagues away however.

Finally after having drained all the mead they had brought along; rather than sleep the nords who where the haughtiest of the companions brought about the issue some of them had with the orcs. Farkas of course; who as at the head of the crowd boldly stood up and approached the two orcs, weapon less yet holding a determined look upon his face.

He asked them in a rough tone "You two come along with some message of your king; summoning our leader as if he holds him in his thrall. Yet if you two mutes are anything to go by; I say your king and your lot are worthless to our cause", now at that the youngest of the orc; who was nothing but a mountain of muscle and armour raised up as if to strike Farkas.

Vilkas who as always was interceding in his brothers drunken brawls rushed forward and pulled his brother away; despite an eager Farkas who was ready to test himself against the orcs who seemed to hold no respect for either the dragonborn, or his companions.

The orc Druz gro-Wzgurn who had originally made up to strike Farkas was restrained himself; not by the physicality of his comrade but rather a simple hand clamping around his own in warning, in difference to his elder he resigned himself to sitting back down.

Reynald then only choose to intercede; taking a stand between the now calmed Farkas and the two orcs, he said then "My man Farkas doesn't hold his tongue well when he has had his mead; nor does he suffer what he sees as disrespect to me or his brothers, I pray you do not take offence"

"What your brethren says is no concern of mine; I hold to only the command of my king" was the reply from Xzul; willing to leave it at that, Reynald could only agree and ordered his own men to settle down for the night and break up the fires.

Now the issue was done and in the morning the group once again took of at first light; in the hopes of reaching the meeting point of the king before another night fell, now neither of the orcs seemed to harbour any resentment yet Farkas was still unimpressed.

"Just wait until we see this orc's in a real battle; we nords pushed the imperials out of our land yet they still are held under their grip" he said to those around him who were of the same point of view, Vilkas however was again their too check his rash mouth.

"You may think so brother; but we've pledged ourselves to follow the harbinger in all his quests, if he thinks these orcs are worthy then who are we to complain" was his reasoning; grudgingly Farkas relented but within himself was determined to outdo the best of these orcs.

The rest of the ride was held in a silence as the lot of the group pressed forward to reach their destinations; gradually however the horses that where being used for transport lost their legs so that rests where taken here and there; with Reynald and Aranea taking turns on scanning for outlying dangers with their magical abilities.

This continued for some time through the late days and finally the nights as darkness came upon them, however the horses that were the finest of the companions Skyrim raised mounts had served their holders well; as did the orcs as they came up upon many miles covered.

It meant that in few days; with most of the fourth gone the group of riders finally arrived at the place of meeting for the two powers of High Rock; it was unlike what Reynald had envisioned.

Instead of meeting at some place of the orcs where their brutal looking towers and structures rose up menacingly; or where a rouge orc battalion stood at the ready, menacing and equally fearsome; Reynald was instead greeted by the sight of an old breton fortress.

It was like it's original inhabitants laid useless seemingly by the Warp in the West; the event that had laid out many of the minor powers of the bay, the four towers and gates that had settled around each point of the stone fortress looked to have been completely destroyed; beyond any repair while those same walls where falling apart.

The only look of intimidation about the place where the sentries above who patrolled the sundered stronghold; they themselves where clothed in armour expected more of brigands and bandits rather than that of a king's guard.

It unsettled Reynald for a moment before his brain worked up the possible cause of such a thing; pleased he said to his orc guides "your king does not wish to be seen consorting with me just yet then" was what he surmized, with either orc only willing to give him a neutral; yet seemingly still begrudged acceptance.

Now at the time of arriving the night was only just falling; so that Reynald could get a good look at the surrounding expanse of land, this place despite still being within the reaches of the mountains was still more laid to ground the wrothgarians; or the reach expanse itself. It reminded the dragonborn of fond; yet fading memories of the home he had once upon a time in his earliest years in High Rock, the low lying fields and streams on which his brother and he would play for hours.

With such fond memories came the bitter resentment of losing them however; and that too was all too familiar a feeling within his breast, before he had long to think on such things the orcs urged them to get inside the abandoned fort.

"Lead the way" Reynald replied simply; with Xzul doing so without any delay.

The short trot to the place in question was hardly anything but tense; with the guards above looking down with suspicion before then realising who approached, those below looked up with their arms on their hilts; trusting that Reynald would not have laid them into a trap.

It took only a few moments for the group to enter the ruin yet it had felt like hours for Farkas; Aela and the like, inside however they found a little more than an abandoned ruin. Here there were guards more fitting of the king of the orcs; with fearsome looking triple layered orcish armour on all two dozen of the hulking masses of Malacath's creation; this was added to by the grave looking halberds and battleaxes hefted by these brutes to make them truly a formidable looking force.

Vilkas; who was nearby Reynald leaned over in his saddle and whispered "Imagine what we could do with an army of these", Reynald could only agree at seeing how well these orcs looked; it was hardly news to him however how fearsome these people were as combatants.

He had spent over a year hunting down those groups terms as rouges and rebels after all; something perhaps best left to the past.

"It is time for you to meet our lord; leave your guard here" Xzul said then having removed himself from the saddle; without any surprising difficulty given how encumbered he was, Reynald followed suit and bade his men await him.

Aranea who had always been reserved spoke up warning Reynald of leaving himself unattended; he brushed off her concern knowing that it would show weakness on his part to be guarded, "I have nothing to fear here Aranea; stay with the others and prepare" he told her before making off behind Xzul and then Druz without the least hesitation.

All his companions then looked on with a bout of apprehension; Reynald however faltered not one step as he was led away up to the old broken down battlements, the gaze of the orc guards faltered for not a second as the dragonborn passed them.

Now alone and with only two heavily arms orcs for company the dragonborn could feel a twinge of unease slipping into his mind, he was as always comforted however by the tendrils of lightening that tickled his fingers at his calling; with the ingrained language of the dragon upon his mind settling him further still.

The keep seemed large; but age had brought it down somewhat so that certain passages and rooms where left uninhabitable, this included the main rooms of whatever king that had once called this place his bastion. Reynald was instead lead to an antechamber with a floor that delved into a decline; with a rotted flag behind the mainstay which was a minor throne, now with an eroded table dragged in front.

The room was bare save for some postings here and there; with the smell of troll fat and the like alerting Reynald's nose to the sacrifices orcs where known to make to their daedric prince of creation, what caught the dragonborn's eye was not the smell; but the lone member within the room.

Neither orc that had accompanied Reynald took a step farther' allowing him to enter the room that had only a table; some furnishings and the aforementioned sacrifices burning within a small shrine to the west corner. In the centre however stood Shura Dul gro-Yargus; the leader of all free orcs within the lands of their homeland and one of the few leaders within High Rock not in favour of the imperial courts.

Now orcs as a people where naturally muscular and full of brawn; so that they stood higher than most bretons and even in most cases their nordic counterparts, but even that explanation did not account for the sheer size of this king among his fellows. Even Xzul who stood at an impressive few spans taller than Reynald did not match the height of this orc; while Shura's breadth took Druz as a relative weakling.

To make him stand out even further; instead of the heavy armour of any ordinary orc commander Shura wore a sparkling suit of dark as night armour, made in the same fashion as his compatriots armour but with a more exalted look about it. To complete the look of majesty a single ebony broadsword rested at his hip rather than his strapped to his shoulders; such was his size.

Reynald in comparison looked diminutive rather than impressive; with only his jagged helmet of dragon bone and accompanying armour allowing him some semblance of matching fierceness.

"You are the dragonborn, the one who went forward to the lands of the gods themselves and defied times will" the huge orc stated in a low rumble that reminded the dragonborn of his Greybeard ally's, both powerful and restrained in equal measure.

Reynald replied simply saying "I am" leaving them in a few moments of charged silence, Shura seemed to be looking over the dragonborn as if to pick up on any weakness found within, all the while Reynald's gaze diverted not for a second under the scrutiny of Shura's terrible amber orbs.

The king of the orcs then pressed forward with his armour moaning not for a second; allowing Reynald to know just how perfectly it had been made for it's inhabitant, still scrutinising the king offered his hand up to which Reynald replied with his own.

Shura then said "only among the mightiest of my own tribe have I found those able to keep my gaze; or suffer my hand"; all the while his hand pressed upon Reynald's with seeming intent to crush it, but again neither Reynald's gaze nor his grip faltered.

After yet more moments of the challenge; Reynald managed to bring himself to speak even under the strain saying with a calm confidence "I have since my first days as a soldier fought here and there; meeting bandits and rebels yet not once meeting any who could match my skill in arms; nor magical ability. Yet only recently I at once found an opponent worthy to claim my soul; and the power to truly become a legendary warrior, I find your gaze less than that of the Alduin; how could I not endure".

At that the hulking orc seemed to have something take hold of him and he finally relented; allowing Reynald's hand free before releasing the stiffness of his shoulders, he said with some measure of respect "Any who braved that which could not have been beaten; yet had done so anyway is more than my equal I believe", the king then looked again on Reynald but without the same fire in his eyes.

"Tell me dragonborn; do you wish to have my armies at your side to make your claim to an empire" Shura asked; his voice more questioning now than the before matters of statement.

"I would have your warriors to aid my own in challenge" Reynald told him in reply in his most austere voice, Shura then instead of directly replying beckoned Xzul in with a signalling of hand.

The king then spoke directly to Reynald saying "I have heard many tales of your great power; and no less than that I have even received word of how you slew those of the thalmor that dared sack one of the old orc colonies of Skyrim, yet for me to support you my lord-god Malacath must have some statement of your strength".

At that Reynald wondered just exactly what sort of daedric trial he would have to complete; knowing something of the various trials these princes were known to hand out to worshippers and worthy warriors, he asked just that and was told "Some ways north of my kingdom; at the peak of the wrothgarians where even the imperials do not stray, my lord Malacath's greatest effigy stands tall; you will go their as all prospective orc kings have and prove yourself worthy".

Only being able to fathom loosely what could be involved; Reynald could only agree on the returning promise from Shura, however before he was led off by Xzul he asked "I wonder how long it would take your kingdom to be ready to aid me; when I complete my task"

The king's reply was stonier this time; "Do not be so sure of your power over the designs of Malacath" he growled; to which Reynald could only say with his eagerness unfolding.

"I do not like to appear disrespectful; but i must know for my own soldiers so that they may join us" then Shura appeared to rile still further; but he relented knowing this sort of breton who was one among thousands would not bend, instead he told him some details.

"My personal battalion is always ready to fight; two further could be readied within the week; the entire kingdom of mine would take some few weeks however"; knowing this Reynald consented to leave without asking anything further of the king.

Again he made outside into the now dark night of the camp; immediately relieving those who came with for his guard, not one had unbridled their armour nor set their weapons down. He got to them quickly and made for his own horse; questions flew here and there from his many interested followers.

He settled them all however saying "I must go and complete a task; so that I can receive the backing of the king and his armies; I will ride with Xzul and none can accompany, instead you will send signal's to Detritus back at the camp", the complaints that were assured to crop out flew from every mouth seemingly and Reynald could only raise a hand to silence them after a good few moments.

He said again in his most compelling tone "You have all pledged to follow my orders and carry out your duties; now settle down and do as commanded", at the quieting he said to Aela who within the crowd "Take Aranea and together send a bright fire arrow into the sky; to alert Detritus to the new developments" then he said to Farkas and Vilkas "You two take half the force prepare to meet Detritus on the road; you will lead him here", then he turned to Xzul and nodded his ascent to their leave; now despite being run down from the ride the Orc agreed and quickly took of from the gates of the fort with Reynald in pursuit.

They left the main road that they had travelled upon so far and instead cut across the low lying countryside; in the distance was the beginning of the wrothgarians which on this angle was at their mightiest, unsurprisingly however Xzul who was still quiet led them not along the main paths towards the nearby settlements but instead curved ways around.

He could of course fathom the reason; the nearby Norvulk was a relay for the legion and had been in use as a buffer against any orc uprisings; despite being a township rather than an actual military fort. In the distance across the fields and grasslands he could make out the sturdy walls of the settlement which had only been there since the last assault of the orc homeland.

The orc city itself could be seen far in the distance on an upraised slope; which led to the expanse of mountain regions that covered the middle land of High Rock, from even this distance he could take in the great stone and malachite walls of Orsinium that had since their last destruction been remade to some semblance of grandeur. Just within them he could make out the imposing tower of the sworn oath that had defended to the last in the last sacking of the city; that itself hardly being surprising given how the orcs revelled in their gods within.

Now further on the pair abandoned the grasslands and took to the beaten path once again having passed the imperial outpost; they crossed towards the beginning of the mountain reaches with little haste. Rushing along however Reynald's curiosity got the better of him and without warning he deviated and turned off towards the western road, Xzul could only call out but to no avail; Reynald got further along towards the coast before stopping at the end of the long rise.

Below him and further still some many miles lay the once jewelled city of Wayrest; standing erect if not still greatly reduced by the vicious assault it was subjected to by those from the Thrassian Reef, at one point during his youth he had walked along the pearled and polished white boulevards of the city; having being impressed greatly by it's natural beauty and seeming glow even in the darkest of nights.

At the time he fully believed that unlike any other city this one stood out amongst many in the bay; soothing magicka could be felt throughout the air while beautiful fountains and statues depicted the greatness of the city, while looming merchant houses; banks and palaces all stood as a testament to it's greatness.

The dragonborn could only feel a great sadness then as he surveyed the same city rebuilding still from the almost complete destruction; which owed more to Daggerfall's jealousy and the accompanying imperial corruption than the actual assault.

He was then reminded from behind him his current obligation as Xzul chided him in a low growl; turning away from the sore sight Reynald allowed the orc to lead him away into the beginning of the mountain reaches.

Having turned to then what should have been the dark of night; Reynald and Xzul were instead treated to the rolling lights of an aurora spreading across all the skies in a beautiful panorama. Always thinking it as the god's providence the dragonborn reduced his horse to a trot and watched the gradual encompassing of the entire sky; so that the emerald lights seemed to rise up beyond the heavens and reach as far as the night could be seen.

Then as they made along the dragonborn secretly prayed "If I am to master this mountain; and with it steal the heart of these legions then allow me my powers against this daedric prince's tests".

Nothing was immediate in coming then; so Reynald with Xzul after another mile or so stopped to refresh themselves and their mounts.

Where they sat was on a non-committed path that was both well used yet under kept; it lay on the side of a mountain path that cut away into the beginning of the wrothgarians, it was no confidence that Xzul had meant for them to rest here, as they sat to rest the hulking orc said to Reynald "This path is well known among my people; yet none of your sort nor the imperials know much of it's use"

Reynald could see why clearly; it was far too close to the orc capital to be of any military use while scouts and spies would not venture so close to a well trodden path, "this leads to your Malacath's shrine then" he asked to which Xzul replied certainly, if the dragonborn was hoping to receive more instruction then he would be mistaken.

The orc only said "Follow the path and you will find yourself up the way of the mountain as far as old towers of Gortwog's; then the path will be no more and you will have to use your strength to climb the remaining mountain", the orc then changed his tone to something resembling contempt stating "No breton nor imperial has ever braved the fierce winds like my orc brethren; without armours and furs to withstand the winds that lord Malacath commands, you would be well to follow the example of my brothers".

Taking this as the natural slight levelled against his people Reynald instead of rebuking the orc instead laid down his jagged helmet; before then removing his armour piece by piece with his furs then following. Only the dragonborn's gauntlets; boots; amulet of Talos and loincloth with his two weapons; long and short remained.

Despite then being of a lesser size than Xzul his body was in pristine condition; with his shoulder's being squared and protruding; his chest and arms like lashed together leathers; and of course accompanying legs that looked fit to pull with the same strength of oxen.

Reynald said to the on looking Xzul "I have faced the greatest threat of the age; destroyed whole armies of dragonslaves; thalmor and caused legions to route, do you think I fear some weather" was the question; to which Xzul could only gaze at him with fierce eyes.

Nothing left to be said Reynald took up what remained of his supplies and drained his water pouch; he then ate up all his salted meats before taking of towards the mountain path. Xzul merely watched him go before preparing a camp and awaiting the return; or news of death for the dragonborn.

Now away from his last accompanying person Reynald took the time to survey what was before him; all that would be found however was fields of snow beginning to settle before him on the higher reaches of the mountains while a cold chill settled through the lower rungs.

Barely clothed as he was the dragonborn fought against the settling cold in his body; he began to liven his pace and make leaps and bounds up the poorly maintained steps so that some warmth returned to his body. This was all that could be done for him however; and this form of winter punishment assaulted the dragonborn for many lengths as he covered the pathway upwards.

Gradually however as he ascended he could see the outline of snowed in pair of towers; outlined against the backdrop of yet more jagged rocks and icy straits, he pushed on then and within a short time he was outside the doors of this position.

Now knowing better through experience that to simply enter Reynald instead pulled free his now cold to the touch blade; his other hand licked with flames before he entered, within he found something hostile. It was a snow cat similar to that found in the mountains of Jerall; rather than their larger cousins of Skyrim, with a natural fierceness it went to an attack position.

Used to hunters rushing away to high ground or a civilian fleeing; the cat stood back and watched as it's prey cocked back his sword arm and billowed flames as if an orb within his other ready hand, even with it's instincts geared towards something as basic as feeding the cat seemed to think better of it; instead turning and without another growl leaping from the tower into the cold.

Returning his sword to the hilt Reynald quickly searched the room for anything that would help offset the cold as he ascended; he quickly found therein a chest an old worn cloak. Deciding it due providence he quickly slipped it around his shoulders and without thought of a heating spell took off into the wind and accompanying cold once again.

It was from here he could see a Cliffside some ways up and above him; almost at a vertical so that he could see climbing was to be their for the remainder of it, feeling as if he should not forego the first trial through magical ability he took off and began to navigate the ascent.

The upward struggle was something that Reynald had experience of; having operated within the mountain regions of Elsweyr during his early days within the legion, this was also coupled with the extensive time he had spent traversing the mountains of Skyrim in search of relics and long forgotten fortresses.

All this meant that the naturally low-laden breton could manoeuvre himself up the Cliffside with something resembling the dexterity of a bosmer; though not of the same quickness of course, he found much to his relief that despite the conditions the mountain side could be gripped with ease; provided the strength to ascend was there.

It reminded him of the strangeness of the throat of the world; how it was made of the most unique of substances despite it's rather ordinary looking surface; then on the last stretch of the mountain Reynald found himself facing a complete vertical climb, there on the very ascent was a cliff point settled outwards so that a desperate leap would have to be made.

Exerted and very much under strain of the days trials the dragonborn could not be sure of his grasp; so deciding then he called together the magicka taught to him only recently by his dunmer battlemage Aranea. A strike of crimson energy throughout his body allowed Reynald to feel his legs were like that of a acrobat; so that he could with assured nimbleness leap upwards and with a tight grip pull himself onto the final obstruction to the shrine.

Taut muscles then gave him the ability to pull his upper body towards safety; while his legs crossed to balance him, however before he could even raise himself fully a swirling vortex of magicka came before him.

Cursing the dragonborn struggled to maintain his grasp; while looking up to find himself faced with three figures all draped in lightless cloaks, all of them faceless and formless.

"Why do you impede me" he asked in a tight voice; keeping his composure despite his muscles struggling against the tension of keeping such a position, on the asking the lead figure removed his hood which in place showed a nasty; almost demon like orcish face unlike anything he had seen before.

"We are the shamans of Malacath; priests who follow his will and test those who are worthy, why do you bring yourself here weakling" the now hoodless figure asked from behind a heavy brow; horribly twisted upturned canines and scar stained grey skin, his two accompanying figures where still silent and foreboding.

Reynald answered in the strongest voice he could muster saying "I come to test myself against Malacath's trials, to receive Shura's aid for my war"; then Reynald attempted to push himself upward; only to be stopped by a cruel foot being stomped against his hands that almost made him fall to his death below.

"No one save the creation of Malacath can permit themselves to attempt our lord's trials" the orc then growled in a guttural sounding tone; his pressure on Reynald's hands increasing preventing him from summoning his destructive power, "go to death" was then the final word from the orc; before his foot looked to come down on Reynald's head.

Hanging powerless then the orcs seemed to revel together as the heavy foot was due to land; enough force within to snap their victim's neck, then however Reynald raged and with his own awesome power shouted "_**Fus Do Rah" **_so that the boot never landed; with the three orcs instead being sent upwards as if weightless before all three then landed in undignified heaps.

Reynald then launched himself upward having used his restoration abilities to bring relief to his bruised hands and strained arms, as he got up the orcs where still struggling to rise allowing him to pull free his sword; as they all rose and appeared furious the dragonborn summoned crackling sparks of lightening to his free palm

"You will receive me orsimer, or I will tear you limb from limb before your god" Reynald threatened in his own fierce tone, as all three of the orcs then where gathered around by many more cloaked beings that seemed to emerge from the dark behind the huge tribute to Malacath, showing him as always to be of his creation's own form; ready to smite down on the world around him.

The lead orc that was now joined by the brutal faces of his peers replied with a vehemence as cold as the night itself; shouting into the wind "I am the executor of Malacath's will and these are his disciplines, you will die under our torture; this I promise you", now shouting and raving in their tongue the orc waited behind as those around him rushed for the dragonborn.

They were all like their leader furious so that rather than rush in Reynald called to him destructive powers only marshalled further by years of study and equal use; the two immediate orcs he originally assaulted were the quickest so that when he summoned his power they were quickly disabled by fearsome blasts of ice than made them fall as if toppled statues.

Three behind then took notice and stopped to use their own spells and conjurations; but Reynald was better still and with an inner summoning called his people's own power, it meant that when the three sent their bursts of flames and lightening bolts his ward held; before then dispelling into his body to augment his own power.

Submitting himself to their assault only for a few moment the dragonborn then turned the offensive upon them; with flames billowing forward and lightening streaking out so that the three orcs where cowed and could only think of defence. The rest could not think of pushing their own power against him while his wards remained bolstered by his breton birthright; instead pulling free their enchanted daggers and rushing around his guard.

Breaking off his attacks Reynald pulled free his sword and with a flurry engaged the two pair of orcs that came around him; all of them like their master where clothed in only in black cloaks so that no armour interfered with the flee of the battle. Now against four opponents Reynald was hard pressed; flurrying against one opponent would only leave his back open to another so that the dragonborn was shifting his feet here and there, he never trusted one position for long and instead relied on these four becoming over confident and sloppy.

It worked first as he slashed against one opponent before then back stepping from another; he then feinted a strike against his secondary opponent while another attempted to cut across his fellow orc, then impeded by his ally this orc could not level his weapon in time as Reynald there lunged forward; imbedding his weapon in the orcs shoulder while those of the other orcs sailed without finding their mark, swift as Reynald was.

Turning away as the orc dropped it pain Reynald wrenched his blade free without regard to his downed opponent; instead bringing his hand up and with deft finger sending a strike of lighting into the closest orcs eye, he could only duck away meaning Reynald was free to again bound forward and with a wild slash cut across the stomach of another orc who was bringing a heavier; summoned daedric hammer to crash down on their enemy.

Now remaining where only two of these orcs; save that of the leader who still bore teeth and snarled some ways away, the dragonborn's secondary light dagger came free as the orcs closed on him.

Both where now focused and cautious preferring to skirt around for an opening but Reynald now had his blood up into the face of the striking cold; he went against the two orcs and found his long blade to hold any assistance at bay; while his weightless short blade pushed the orcs back time and time again.

Trained with diligence and holding the natural strength of there birthright the orcs where able to hold out for many strokes of the dragonborn, but even they were not enough and soon both lay disabled like their fellows on the snow laden ground.

Turning with only a light sweat breaking across his body Reynald faced the master here with nothing but eagerness across his features; the orc meanwhile stood rooted to the spot while snarling at the failure of his protégés.

"Never have I seen so many of the true born struck down by an inferior" the lead orc then said; before his glare focused entirely on Reynald, who had not moved but instead faced him head on.

"I have come here to ensure the test of Malacath; dare you stop me" the dragonborn asked in challenge; with the orc only snarling back in response. He did then after a time step away from his dominant position around the statue.

"You have proven yourself worthy of facing the tests of Malacath; by silencing the challenge of my disciplines, pray you do not fail breton; for I will relish in your torture". Now allowed passage the dragonborn sheathed his weapons and marched past the orc; oblivious to his demented glare.

Now nothing was between the statue of the orc god and the dragonborn; who looked up as if uncertain where to cast his gaze, he only awaited a moment before the booming voice of Malacath became apparent; settling the winds and quieting the groans of the fallen orcs.

"Who is it that stands before me; injuring my creations and desecrating my shrine" was the roar of anger from the daedric prince; who seemed to frenzy the winds as if to push Reynald back, the dragonborn only stood firm then.

Reynald's voice was there to match the deafening sounds of Malacath; bellowing back "_**ZU'U DOVAHKIIN LOK VAH KOOR**_" so that not only did he announce his title but he also settled the winds of Malacath, the reply he got was not of that expected,.

Laughter; much like the original statement in its strength and intensity was heard before the Malacath recognized Reynald as what he was; chosen by the divines, "You wish to hold my orcs as soldiers for your army; to cross the lands of the mortal realm and cause destruction and slaughter, if you pass my trials then I will give you my ascent mortal; what say you".

The question was answered immediately, "I say yes lord Malacath" and on that two seamless doors parted at the base of the shrine; being hidden against the base of the structure.

The one of the bloody curse then said "Enter mortal, and pray your soul does not fall into my keeping", Reynald as ever was bold; faltering not a step as he marched inside.


	11. The Trials of the Sworn Oath

_**Vickmackey007:** _Thanks for the input i do think that Reynald as put across is someone resembling what a DB would be like; however i hope to expand on his character and backstory in the soon to come chapters, the trials were brief i thought but again based upon what we've seen from the games so far.

**_jaass20:_ **I hope you enjoy it.

* * *

><p>Following his bold declaration to the holder of the dark tomb he now inhabited; the dragonborn had now come to grips with the challenge he had set himself, as it became apparent as he touched on the undesirable stench of charred flesh and rotting bone what the price of failure would be. Inside the first oppressively lit chamber he had found himself in; bodies piled up of once hulking orcs lay dumped in a smouldering pile, without one ounce of ceremony nor sympathy it seemed.<p>

Drag marks could be seen leading from another entrance to the constricted chamber; with only the blood trail and some remnants of flames giving of any form of rebellion against the enforced darkness, Reynald was quick to counter with a small candlelight flaring from his hand; floating as if to guide the dragonborn forward.

He made his way there through passageways that would force even the lowliest of orcs to bend; which intermingled with chambers much like that he had just traversed, more orcs piled up seemingly smouldering forever against the backdrop of tamed light; and his own foreign casting.

It went on for another while with the chambers circling around forever and intermingling; with only more bodies and dark passageways to fill in the gaps between, it allowed a thought of wonderment to slip into his mind; of just how many orcs had fallen in their attempts to prove themselves.

Any elf or man of questionable heart would have perhaps now allowed doubt to fall into his mind at point, but the dragonborn was of no ordinary stock; nor anything less than a hero.

"Stop attempting to cajole me into doubt Malacath; or is it that your too afraid of my power against your tests" Reynald bellowed after finding yet another chamber of corpses; with no sight of the entrance nor progression.

After a moment of indignant waiting he was answered by the sound of rock pulling apart from ways before him; reversing on himself he found a newly revealed secret passageway much like those found within the dungeons of Skyrim, any confusion as to how Malacath had hidden it from his perceptive eyes was quickly dismissed by Reynald as small trick held by those more powerful than he could envisage.

Without ceremony Reynald again cast his illumination spell before continuing on; this passage more winding with turns that led downwards into the bowels of Malacath's monument, unfortunately for him all that was there for him to reach upon was further rot and gore.

As he neared a point where he could see the hue of fire and an added smell of ash he heard Malacath's voice shout out towards him; seemingly all around and nowhere all in one.

"look ahead to your doom manmer" he first growled as Reynald finally entered the chamber he had been travelling towards; finding it many spans larger and wider than any that he had seen before, so that he could afford to look over his small upraised balcony to the room below.

What he found there was something that was cause enough for his own breath to escape him; if only for a moment, for below only a small flight was a worthy trial in itself. This chamber which was many spans wide was on either side beset with roaring fires that spread across either wall from unseen pits; seemingly unnatural yet spewing fourth fire and ash all the same so that Reynald could feel the tickling warmth even from his removed position.

Yet it was not these flames that caused him discomfort; nor was it the columns nine in number; separated equally across the room with bristling spikes and jagged edges all around, instead it was the _thing_ that greeted him from below.

It was simply put a colossus, some form of being that amounted to a mass of armour covering slabs of equally hardened muscle taut with battle; if the scared and darkened plates of unrecognisable forged metals were anything to go by. Yet unlike armoured men and mer there was no face to recognise; nothing save a crudely shaped slab of metal that protected this beast almost completely.

It stood ten spans high and yet wider still than that of any creature Reynald had ever seen; neither troll nor summoned beast held anything towards this creature, he likened it to one of the rare centurions found still roaming the halls of old dwemer ruins in Skyrim. There in it's hand was a mace heavier than any weapon seen by the dragonborn in his lifetime; coupled with gauntlets formed together with deadly spikes same as the hefty chain balled weapon.

"Does your soul quake at the sight of my first creation" the daedric lord asked again in that same booming voice; eager to see the dragonborn quake before such a terror.

The response was that of Reynald's long blade pulling free from his scabbard; while the loose cloak around his shoulders was shrugged free, "I am not the first to arrive here for your trials and succeed Malacath, let's see what this beast has", then the dragonborn at those words took himself forward and in one clean motion vaulted the balcony; landing with poise on the hard floor below.

There just a few lengths it stood and with something like a smothered roar it began to charge forward; rushing with it's weight travelling towards him as if on a cliff edge Reynald could only think towards avoidance.

He pursued that idea by launching forward himself and blade in hand making as if to meet the great beast head on; then as it's great mace slung back the dragonborn with agility threw himself forward into a much practised forward roll, so that when the great weapon struck it but shattered the ground where he beforehand would have been.

Under it's guard but warily close Reynald came up and with some deft strokes cut across the beasts elbow and juncture of it's leg; these being some of the few exceptions of which were not so impenetrable, but such expert strokes seemed to count for little amongst the beasts concerns as it only let out another horrible; suffocated growl.

Not wishing to chance his arm for a more penetrating stroke Reynald sidestepped away from the beast; which then having removed it's weapon threw out a trunk like limb to swat away his foe, then it's incredible strength was used to sling it's weapon over the shoulder towards Reynald's position.

Wild and equally fierce the strike caught the closest barbed support; destroying that side and leaving the weapon wedged, not having retreated Reynald rushed forward and with a great yell slashed his blade across the knees of the beast as he came across it's frame; again however the flesh could only be broken lightly.

The dragonborn would have found it easy then to let the beast swing and catch itself short; while he deciphered it's weakness but it was not to be so, for the beast on having been struck again raged and sent off to crush Reynald with balled fists; forgetting it's embedded weapon.

Towards the balcony Reynald retreated dodging support struts in and out so that the great beast could not settle in it's path; however it soon became a straight rush as the pillars ended and all that was left was for him was a strait.

Flight footed as he was the dragonborn could only hope to outrun the giant behind him as it's huge trunks of legs carried it forward like the fiercest of wild cats, only then when it sounded as if the world was crashing down around him Reynald called upon the powers taught to him by Aranea; so that he flashed with a aura of violet energy and leapt upwards to catch the balcony.

He captured the ledge then with a secure grip which was then tested as the beast below smashed into the base of the structure, protected as it was the force of the jolt staggered the creature so that it was left senseless for a moment. That was all Reynald needed to leap down onto it's back and with practised balance drive his sword into the gap between the creatures _head _and _neck._

Roaring again it attempted to dislodge the dragonborn who gripped onto the plate edge of the armour fiercely; shaking wildly it's hands could only flail as the heavy plates made it impossible for Reynald to be reached, instead he was free to summon destructive fire to his hand and then pour flames across the length of the blade to further increase the creatures agony.

Such a monster was not to be taken to death so lightly however and at the increase of pain its rage and desperation got only fiercer, it abandoned its idea to dislodge him by its own hands and instead turned and ran for the nearest support strut.

It sent itself into the spiked walls hoping to have Reynald impaled by his own position; however with swift movement Reynald leapt down onto its back so that he hung off it loosely, the creature itself faced the spikes of the wall and the impact completely; again being denied by its quicker foe.

Thwarted again Malacath's creation could only pull itself from the wall roaring as it went; then feeling the dragonborn again claim a perch upon it's body, inside it's own basic mind it could fathom that only by the fire could it vanquish it's enemy and resolved to end the battle there.

Heaving himself back up to pull free his sword Reynald could see the intent as the beast took off again to throw him within the fires, then seeing that he could either burn within with no protection from the flames; or remove himself and again be the prey.

The dragonborn by his own namesake was more than that however; resolving to end the conflict himself with a quick thought, then when it appeared that he was about to be engulfed in the ever rising flames he instead threw himself off the back of the beast; which in triumph turned to rush him there.

Never was it to be so disappointed when Reynald instead of fleeing stood up and with a thunderclap shouted "_**Fus Do Rah" **_so then in great surprise the creature was sent off its feet with enough force to lodge it within the walls of the firewall behind.

There it screamed and raged at being so cruelly tricked; fighting to dislodge it's heavy body while the flames around boiled it inside; the same heavy armour that made it so fearless previously. Not content then to just allow it to recover Reynald with ease summoned a long daedric spear and with it stopped the beast moving for the moment; driving it through its _knee _with a trained thrust.

By now the smell of burning flesh was wafting throughout the chamber; with the howling of the titan now stopping not for a second as Reynald marshalled it with his elaborate crafted daedric spear, but then after some further moments of howling and pain the beast managed to pull itself free and Reynald could only let his spear linger as he himself retreated.

Now boiled; scorched and in constant pain the creature could only stagger forward as it's leg was disabled by the spear, Reynald then himself was flush with adrenaline and pulled free his remaining weapon; the same daedric blade given to him by his battlemage Aranea.

He was clueless then as to what path to take; feeling his great power return to him by the moment as the beast laboured forward, it seemed to eye him warily before deciding it could not continue against him without it's leg free of the protruding spear.

Then it bent down and with some awkwardness attempted to pull free the spear; Reynald however would only take advantage of the situation and with swiftness not yet dulled he bounded forward driving his blade in an upward arc to strike the dagger through the slit leading to the creature's eye.

It roared in agony and attempted to swing upwards; but the dragonborn had many times marshalled unruly beasts and with experience he tossed himself around the neck of the creature. Holding on again he cooled his hands with a frost spell and pulled free his scorched blade; ripping it free before again driving it through the neck of his failing enemy.

Riding hard on the monster Reynald could feel the heat behind him as he lurched back and fourth upon his flailing adversary, resolving to end things he could feel his thu'um return; saying one of those forbidden for the way of the voice; that being "_**Krii Lun Aus**_".

The effect was that a sweep of parasitic energy that caught the monster; enveloping him in golden light that would have appeared pretty against the circumstances and effect within itself, staggering once again Reynald felt the creature finally give away as he drove his blade into the creatures neck; before then leaping of to safety.

He was alone in his salvation however as the beast of Malacath's lost itself in the flames; not one part of it able to fight back against its inevitable death, watching on in victory the dragonborn could only holler in victory.

Malacath sounded angered and impressed in equal measure; then bellowing "You are not the first to defeat my beast manmer; for it is the trial of thought and skill over brute force and ignorance that prevails here. Though none have so easily slain it since my reigning servant king; perhaps there is hope for you yet weak born".

That said yet another secret of the place revealed itself; with another secret entry way revealing itself at the forefront of the chamber, like any other it seemed to separate itself from the wall seamlessly leading to further within the bowels of the daedric temple.

It made Reynald wonder just how far the temple of Malacath's stretched; knowing full well that none in the legion currently residing on the face of the mountain had an inkling of such a position below their very midst, it would surely sour some mouths given the historic hatred all in the legion were naturally disposed towards daedra in the era.

Reynald himself had no such reservations; feeling that daedra like any other being were creatures of their creation and environment, then there was the claim from many a summoners lips that highly skilled; ageless daedra warriors could be summoned if one knew the correct incantation.

Such a thing was very enticing for an opportunist such as the dragonborn; for he was not against the help of what most would be considered wrong to some in order to gain advantage. He moved on then casting a small healing spell as he went regaining his strength; determining to end the next contest just as quickly,

He made his way down steep steps that again led to another chamber; complete with a high risen balcony that surrounded each wall with some risen platforms, in the centre of the room lay a well like structure that was filled with an unknown energy; itself a stark mix of gleaming white with pockets of bubbling blue energy.

Nothing occurred then as Reynald entered the room; himself atop the apex of the balcony just behind now, expecting something awaiting him as before the dragonborn instead began to traverse the balcony.

He saw the point of interest within the chamber then come to life; that being the pool of energy beneath that after some disturbance began to form a figure from it's depths, captivated the dragonborn could only look on as the daedric creation took shape.

It was unlike the previous creation as it was no titan; nor did it hold the same terrifying appearance for the dragonborn to stop himself, instead it was that of some black veiled man like creature with horns protruding from it's head; added to it's still fearsome appearance with lava red skin and dark piercing features that gave it a cruel appearance.

In it's claws it held a large staff of power; jewelled crystal pulsing with blood red energy at it's point, with a shimmering mighty axe in the other that skewed the dragonborn's vision slightly. Both weapons looked fearsome allowing Reynald memory that he himself was defenceless save his conjuring abilities, before any more violence could occur however Malacath spoke out once again.

"Before you stand's the mightiest of my daedric lord's weakling; unopposed in devotion to destroying my enemies; he shall make you suffer" said the daedric lord; with the lesser daedra below howling in fierce anger in order to force such words home.

"I fight to restore the god-king of Tamriel to his rightful position;, let us see if this creature can provide something of a challenge" the dragonborn replied with a voice turning spiteful towards Malacath; feeling his rage build towards the daedric prince at his apparent dismissal, these daedric prince's and there undead creatures were far too superior in their mindset Reynald thought then.

The combat was started by the daedric lord then as it hurled a pulse of crimson energy towards the base of the balcony Reynald stood upon; with the impending explosion of magicka ripping it's structure down and with it the dragonborn, who fought for penchant on the surrounding area but to no avail.

Falling hopelessly it seemed Reynald all but screamed "_**Tiid" **_so that his fall slowed to just inches per second; allowing the dragonborn to right himself with some effort so that when he landed roughly below not a bone broke, nor a muscle strained under the fall.

Time then resumed as normal with the dragonborn feeling the strange side effect of that particular shout take hold of him if only for a moment, while his opponent who had yet to move thought nothing of it but instead fired yet another ball of crimson energy towards the dragonborn.

He was quicker than that and nimbly dodged the sphere; escaping the explosion behind with only some chips of rock striking into his skin before casting a pair of ice like spears on either hand to dislodge the daedra from it's position. Instead of dodging however the daedric simply erected a magicka based ward that protected with a blue hue surrounding itself, Reynald could only then appreciate that it's defensive skill would be as great as it's attack.

He was sure to find out more about the weapons it possessed as he attempted to close in on the being; only for a sweep of violet energy to envelop him from the staff and just about force him onto his knees, thankfully through swift action the dragonborn could force a ward upon himself to stop himself from succumbing completely to the life draining casting; yet he could only barely hold on as the daedra seemed to pour everything within his weapon towards destroying Reynald.

Desperate for a release from the attack which steadily drained his will Reynald steadied himself upwards for a moment and then shouted powerfully "_**Zun Haal**_" causing his opponents weapons to fly from grasp; the staff loosing it's effect on Reynald while the axe was embedded into the wall behind.

Not to allow the moment to pass Reynald quickly cast a healing spell that further drained his reserve; before rushing forward and closing the distance between them to drive a palmed fist towards the neck of the daedra, who despite being assured of victory could only defend himself with his own claws as the dragonborn came on.

The first strike caused the daedra to reel back in pain and then curse out in it's own tongue as Reynald struck a brutal haymaker across it's jaw line, using the momentum of the daedra's own body against itself then Reynald swung an unhindered knee upwards to catch the daedra's face as it lowered.

The effect was that of more pain as it's horned head shot backwards; with it's body following as the oblivion bound creature fell upon it's back. Striking out in seeming desperation the lesser daedra managed to slash across Reynald's stomach causing the dragonborn to cry out in surprise, It seemed still then that the contest was over as Reynald conjured up a long blade and with ease drove it downwards to pierce the daedric lord's heart.

He been so surprised then when the being vanished away in a burst of violet energy; causing the dragonborn to cock his sword back in surprise, "Coward; come back and fight me you lifeless cur" Reynald subsequently shouted; hoping to force the usually haughty creature back towards him without first recuperating.

He was left there however to stew and worry for a long moment before he caught the daedra again appearing some lengths in front of him; there pulling free it's axe before again vanishing, giving him no time to imbed the charged lighting bolt within his grasp.

Another moment went away without movement before Reynald heard the telltale sound behind him; which he could only respond to with a forward roll, which allowed him to escape the daedra embedding his weapon within his back. Recovering he went to assault the lord but again had to throw up a ward as the humanoid again attempted to injure him with magicka rather than metal, it was now bursts of billowing flames in ever increasing intensity testing his shields.

But rather than revert to using his battle changing shout Reynald instead opened his weapon wielding hand and therein cast a spell of flame cloak; it doubling as a ward as the daedric lord's own power faltered against the clever defence.

Surprised Malacath's servant itself brought up a second hand to reverse Reynald's own spell with a burst of frost but was caught short as the dragonborn shouted "_**Wuld Nah"**_ allowing him to escape the immediate effect of the frost burst and send him behind the daedra's position.

Then casting two differing spells and without forewarning the daedric lord was caught short as Reynald rushed the small distance between himself and his opponents exposed back; there driving home his weapon with a furious thrust that meant the daedra could see the exposed blade rip through his chest.

Now hilt deep Reynald with mercy grasped his blade with both hands; ripping it free in a burst of black blood and body staining gore that finished with the daedra dropping lifelessly at his feet. There the body began to decompose and finally fall away into a pale of ash; only the axe and staff of the creature remaining in it's memory.

"If this is the best of your servants Malacath; then I will have no further trouble in these trials" Reynald boasted somewhat out of his usual tone; eager to hear the daedric prince rage at the apparent ease of how he destroyed his mage lord.

Still the dragonborn felt more than a little drained at the exertion of that particular fight; deciding to further heal his body and rejuvenate even as his will dwindled further, Malacath at that moment would have surely wished his life to be extinguished as he shouted "Pathetic dremora; falling to your pathetic dragon power, do you think it gives you leave to insult me"

Reynald then relented if only slightly saying "I only wish to finish these trials here and now; or is it your wish to gradually weary me with poor opponents", the question hung in the air for a second as Malacath seemed to gauge the request.

Then there was laughter from the ever present; yet never seen daedric lord as he promised Reynald his chance "You wish to finish your trials; what better way than to face the greatest warrior ever to fall beneath the walls of my city, the only one to defeat my creations in true combat"; more laughter then as the daedric prince found himself greatly pleased with the idea, then deciding to forego the differing trials he had used to gauge worthiness.

"Show me the way" Reynald replied simply; willing to meet this final enemy, beyond him then a final entryway opened at the fore of the room which he quickly made for.

Like before it was all darkened passage which twisted and turned; until he came upon there a chamber that was little more nothing, unlike those before it had no discerning platforms or pitfalls; instead being simply four walled with a slight rise in height.

On either side of the entrance where Reynald entered a small flight of stairs was built; with a pair of pillars on either side of the flight, further within the room there was a gateway that seemingly led to nowhere; looking barren and useless.

That changed however as the air began to still within the chamber; and a change happened in which a surge of that same energy within the well then poured from the same empty gateway, spiralling outwards the dragonborn himself had to stop himself from retreating as the strange occurrence struck wildly.

It settled however allowing him to remain rooted; with the gateway stabilising to remain a gravity defying pool of energy. Then however something separated itself from the energy; looking far more human than the creatures and 'dremora' before, for instead of facing some daedric thing Reynald instead faced a man.

He was a dark skinned redguard with a thick; muscular build, frost like eyes and a hard face that held a multitude of disfiguring scars and an overall look of grim determination. Covering his body was a suit of armour unlike anything Reynald had ever seen, it appearing almost ceremonial like with it's ornately crafted crimson plates and entwining mail; looking far too elegant to be truly used for battle much like that of his old allies the blades.

Reynald could only wonder how long this man had remained within the grasp of the daedric prince's realm; explaining his ancient looking suit of armours, this man stood tall also; over the head of Reynald easily yet with no weapon within his sheath, yet it was not his lack of weapon that caught the dragonborn most but; instead the redguard's eyes.

They had a look of torment and madness within them; watching him with disquieting judgement to remind the breton that this man had fallen before Malacath, and with that became his thrall.

A fate worse than most deaths Reynald was sure; and not one to be shared by him, "I defeat this last trial of yours and I have your orcs Malacath" the dragonborn asked; then attempting to judge what way best to deal with this new foe.

Again more laughter from the daedric prince as he consented; leading Reynald to summon his favourite form of long blade from the plains of oblivion, the weight of the almost perfect; but unnaturally forged blade now resting in his grasp.

Then his opponent opened his mouth as if to speak; but instead let loose a piercing sound of broken speech that resonated throughout the chamber, filling the air around the redguard with an aura of pale light that began to gather within his now closely fixed hands.

There a blade formed unlike any form of conjuring Reynald had been witness too; with the redguard silencing himself as the blade finally sealed itself into a lengthy sabre like weapon. Immaculate and glinting the blade reminded much of glass weaponry yet without any sign of forging; so that it appeared ethereal still.

His weapon now summoned the red armoured warrior burst forward with speed like that of a great cat rather than a man; with Reynald rushing forward himself to meet his enemy, but as they met the redguard with unrelenting strength leap upwards and drove his blade upon Reynald's; with the strike driving the dragonborn back.

It was a retreat for Reynald who was unable to match the ferocity of the red armoured warrior; instead using his dexterity to avoid his great blade and defend where possible, but as his enemy progressed the dragonborn was able to meet his oncoming blade; catching it with a horizontal block as this thrall attempted to rend his head from shoulders from above.

Having stopped the onslaught Reynald used his blade work to force the greater sword aside and set against his opponent striking low to force a block; before then whirling his sword up as if to cut across his chest; but rather instead side stepping to his right in an attempt to take his opponent shoulder to hip on his unguarded side.

The attempt was seen through and with his own footwork the redguard got himself beyond the strike, then with something beyond Reynald's recognition he seemed to summon the power of his blade so that he was engulfed in that same pale energy; before then launching himself forward in a blistering whirlwind of light unknown to Reynald.

All Reynald could do was force a block and counter as his enemy wielded his blade as if it was weightless; he was successful then but the jarring nature of the assault meant that he could not save himself from a forceful palm strike that sent him crashing to the foot of the rightmost pillar.

His enemy took no time in launching himself upward and with a fierce shout driving his blade down upon Reynald; who managed to roll away from the blade due to his lack of armour, rolling up into a kneel his blade was sent to meet a further strike that the armoured warrior followed with having not yet slain his enemy.

But again the strange nature of this man's power caused the breton to falter as his hand shot forward to blast him into the stairs behind; it being some form of forceful telekinesis almost. The redguard followed by launching himself upwards in an attempt to decapitate Reynald; but he was again quick enough to roll away leftwards so that only dirt and stone met the mystical blade.

At that moment it was not a savage strike meeting Reynald's head but instead the redguard pulling him upwards by the neck; throwing him against the pillar to steady him for a death stroke, but Reynald now had time to finally settle and brought a hand up; firing flames at his enemy who fell away in a sharp roll that allowed him to avoid the assault.

Desperate to end this fight; yet knowing he had to prove his mettle to Malacath Reynald shouted "_**Su Grah Dun"**_ so that his own power only sped his own hand, launching forward he came upon the redguard who attempted to match the dragonborn stroke for stroke; not yet realising he had imbued himself with the power of the dragon's elemental fury.

Blade to blade; a match for a match it seemed the pair traded blows within the chamber of Malacath without thought of time nor exertion, but Reynald was keen to gain some advantage so that he summoned yet another blade to his offhand.

Then with his now duel blades the dragonborn used what was incredible speed afforded to him to not only match but to put the same terrible opponent of his upon the defensive; his two swords working in tandem to break through the staunch defence of his enemy, striking high and low; thrusting one and slashing with another in tandem.

The defence of the redguard was equal to it all though as his heavy blade worked in tandem with excellent footwork to deny Reynald however; even as his own duel blades came on like that of an unstoppable force.

Then after many exchanges it seemed that the redguard was beaten; for as he watched his opponent seemingly tire he shifted from the defence, hitting out with a mighty slash to parry Reynald's outstretched rightmost blade as it crossed across his neck; before then slashing down to cut the half protected dragonborn head to hip.

However the dragonborn dropped his flailing blade; nimbly sidestepping before then lashing his now sole blade across the knee of the redguard before then attempting to pierce his thigh, his opponent was not so inflexible however and leapt within the guard of Reynald to offset the strike.

It meant that the pair tangled with Reynald's blade dangerously close to the crimson warriors groin; his own working to stab the dragonborn in the side but itself fended off also, both men furiously fought for control.

The redguard however was powerfully built and of a commanding height so that he began to edge his blade towards Reynald, knowing that he was to come out second best if the entanglement continued the dragonborn shouted "_**Fus" **_so that the redguard staggered if only for a little moment; before then stepping back with his blade coming up in an overhead slash to cut his opponent in halves.

Again however he was met well enough but the warrior who even without his full senses managed to bring his blade to block; the result being a grind between the pair soon to be contested, Reynald however quickly showed some of his unconventional tactics by then launching his head forward to impact his opponents own; knocking him back a few steps as his eyebrow was busted from the attack.

Reynald being himself somewhat jarred by the attack found himself reasoning that despite his idea of fighting sword to sword with this enemy; he could not overcome this redguard by blade skill alone, instead he resolved to end the battle with the entirety of his abilities.

Reynald then rushed forward to follow up his assault; calling destructive fire to his off hand and firing it towards the redguard who had to retreat away from the blast that shattered the rock at his feet, the remnants broke skin but not the crimson however as he was forced to halfway turn and repel Reynald oncoming blade.

Coming on Reynald attempted his own downward hack as he leapt towards the redguard; landing with a clash of blades that then broke and began there fierce contest once again. Now however the redguard's ferocity was met not only by Reynald own summoned blade but by his destructive magic, so that fireballs shattered that ground beneath his feet; ice spikes were narrowly avoided and lightening threatened to make him succumb.

Such was the quality of the crimson warrior that he not only dealt with the assaults but managed to reflect the offensive upon Reynald; managing to slip within the oncoming breton's guard as he felt himself too secure.

It happened as the breton rushed forward firing a bolt towards the redguard's left shoulder; thereby forcing him onto his right which the breton attempted to skewer, however the redguard feinted before then swiping across his left; receiving the brunt of the bolt upon his armour as his blade struck Reynald's downwards.

Now defenceless from above the waist Reynald could only lunge back as his opponents blade reversed it's cross to slash across his throat, but that in itself was only a feint by the redguard as he then himself launched forward without his blade to strike; catching the dragonborn across the face with a vicious blow that busted his lip and sent the breton tumbling backwards onto his back.

Appearing dazed and defeated to his enemy Reynald could barely defend as the redguard launched himself; for the final time to skewer the dragonborn with his blade reversed within his grasp, the very same breton then could only see his own doom but for his last final desperate shout.

That shout was that of _**"Krii Lun Aus"**_;which on the utterance enveloped the oncoming redguard as he struck downwards, the effect being that his luminescent sword faltered as did he; the blade faltering short of catching Reynald's chest but instead piercing his right shoulder loosely.

The dragonborn cried out but did not give in to the pain; instead forcing himself to focus past the blinding agony the intruding blade brought. His own weapon now on his disabled side the dragonborn could not yet stab upwards; instead he used what was like of his resolve to summon a deadly ice spike and fire towards the redguard's throat.

The crimson armoured warrior was not yet powerless to resist as he showed by lurching back to avoid instant death; instead only having his throat; cheek and right eye horribly shredded and then froze by the bolt, it left him off balance which Reynald used to angle his foot upwards towards the redguard's underarm; pushing with all his might so that the redguard's blade was removed from his shoulder.

Now released from certain death Reynald rolled away from his enemy fighting the searing pain as he did so; grasping his weapon in his good hand and then raising himself up unsteadily. Free from his enemy the dragonborn could only focus upon the wound that was pouring fourth with blood; so that his upper body became a mess of crimson that matched him now to his enemies own coverings.

Summoning what was left of his willpower the dragonborn used his healing knowledge to stem the tide of the blood; not yet having the power nor the knowledge to bring the wound to completely heal, instead simply mending what lay torn inside so that his shoulder could no longer hinder him too greatly.

The crimson warrior who himself had been grievously injured had also managed to stem his own wound though not like his enemy; instead pulling off his upper arm protectors and ripping free the fabric that had remained there, then using that to slow his neck wounds impact. His eye however was now useless leaving a large gap in his vision; while his body appeared sapped of strength, the dragonborn could only feel his own strength leave him yet his thu'um remained strong.

Both men moved together then closing the distance between the pair; then coming together as the redguard used his great sword to cut across Reynald, deftly however the dragonborn diverted the strike and went to slash towards the blind side of the redguard; before reversing his sword within his grip and attempting to cut across the opportunity presented thigh of his enemy.

He was surprised by the redguard however who instead of falling for his feint; turned and instead side stepped the breton before then slashing downwards against his foe, the result was that Reynald crying out in surprise as the tip of the warriors blade snaked across his back.

Stumbling forward Reynald vainly attempted to turn and present his sword in defence; only for the redguard to follow up with a hip to neck stroke that impacted with such force that the dragonborn's summoned blade was wrenched from his grasp.

The blade sailed overhead as Reynald threw himself away on his shoulder to avoid the surely following decapitation; drained as he was the dragonborn could not summon another weapon but instead turned away from his enemy; his eyes drifting to find the second weapon he had discarded.

It had left the realm leaving Reynald to escape away from the redguard who appeared willing to use what strength he had left to end the battle quickly, feeling his thu'um return the dragonborn resolved to turn and attempt a shout to break his enemy finally; until then he caught from the corner of his eye the discarded piece of armour from the warriors suit.

He again retreated from his enemy and reached the plate taking it into hand; eager then as he found it to be both sharp and of good quality, from behind his enemy came upon him with blade raised to strike but Reynald was ready then.

He turned as his enemy rushed to cut him in halves with his mighty blade; his body still strong despite all the abuse he received at the hands of the dragonborn, but as his blade descended Reynald shouted in his failing tongue "_**Fus Do Rah" **_so that the redguard found his weapon faltering and his own arms being pushed away by the power.

It was a testament to the power that the warrior commanded that the great force of the thu'um only staggered him at its mightiest; but there would be no victory for him as the dragonborn then used the formerly discarded armour piece to strike at the redguard's throat.

The result was the crimson warrior horribly attempting to form a breath as his throat was pierced through with his own protector, the blade which had served him also then dissipated as he fell onto his knees in defeat; before then toppling over onto his back.

Reynald himself was all too eager to topple himself as his enemy was defeated; the dragonborn falling onto his knees as he enjoyed what little respite the cold floor of the chamber provided upon his aching muscles, no thought was given to either wound that persisted with him.

After a few moments of the relief the previously haughty daedric prince spoke out to Reynald; his voice resembling something like respect as he said "You have proven yourself greater than that of my creations; my thralls and my minions mortal. Only one as mighty as you could truly command the might of my blood kin, now I will give you the claim to holding their oaths";

On that the prince once again called upon his power to form the same gateway that resided within the room; now naturally calmed it provided the dragonborn with a view of a weapons hilt protruding from it's depths, ignoring his screaming muscles the breton rose up and crossed the distance towards it.

"A symbol of my favour" the daedric prince told him in a solemn tone as Reynald attempted to pull the weapon free; but finding it so heavy as to make him drop it when coming free, with barking laughter the daedric prince spoke again saying "Seems like my trials have brought much strain upon you mortal".

The chiding of the daedra was not welcomed by Reynald; who had to fight to keep his mouth of its own volition; but instead the dragonborn closed his eyes to the chamber around and silently prayed to the divines.

_The power you have bestowed within my blood is great my honoured divine; but my strength fails me when it is needed most, I pray you favour me this day and restore my will_ was the prayer.

Gloating over his new champion the daedric prince could only do so as the breton attempted to gain strength from his divines, Malacath knew all too well that his hold upon this temple was as real as that of his own realm of oblivion.

However he was to be surprised along with Reynald as a wave of strength swept through the dragonborn's body; with his wounds disappearing and his tangible strength returning so that he could heave this mighty hammer of Malacath's.

He was sure then that at the corner of his mind he could feel the weighing of another foreign presence like that of Malacath's; this instead being a phantom touch of warmth accompanied by a thought of twilight then.

"The lady of dawn favours me still" Reynald said with a triumphant grin as he pulled the weapon to his shoulder's, clearly Malacath was not so pleased with another's intervention upon his own hold,.

"Finish your enemy and see yourself away from my temple mortal; I tire of your presence" was the daedric's prince reply; but Reynald was confused and asked him to what he meant by finishing his enemy.

"Is this great warrior not deserving a place in the afterlife; I pray you would release him from your hold" Reynald asked; to which he was only met with an angry retort.

"Who are you to command me mortal; do you think my favour allows you position to meddle in my affairs" was just that reply; with the daedra not appearing pleased to see the breton free of his struggle so easily, Reynald was undaunted however having felt his power return.

"I would not be so bold to command you Malacath; but this man is the worthiest warrior among the many mortals I have faced within my life, I pray that you would allow him to be at peace" was what the dragonborn said in the attempt to further convince his newest ally of sorts.

"What do you offer in reply" was the proving question asked back in the prince's gruff tone.

Reynald told him then "Is it not true that even after your former servant king gained your people the protection of provincial status; both redguard and bretons alike attacked and destroyed your city. I swear then that if I attain my desire and gain the empire I will enforce certain laws that will allow your people to prosper finally within this era, under the penalty of death for all"

The persuasive argument seemed to convince the daedric prince as he finally obliged; as he then with a command uttered in his own guttural language released the crimson warrior who at first appeared none changed, before his body was struck by a great fire that first enveloped and then consumed it.

"Use my servant's blood well mortal and respect your oath to me; I will be watching you" was the final words from the daedric prince before a final entrance to the surface appeared, confirming he understood with a simple nod the dragonborn took off to the surface above.

What he knew of the daedric great hammer he held over his shoulder was little; with even the hue of sickly green enchantment further eluding him, he was as ever optimistic knowing that it would ignite the people of Orsinium for his banner.

* * *

><p>Further away at the banks of the river that crossed both that of Hammerfell and High Rock; the camp of the dragonborn's protectors was set, there it laid some lengths from the stone protection of the orc kings own.<p>

From the place one could look upon the ever rebuilding jewel of the bay; Wayrest or attempt to catch sight of what lay within the orc kingdom, the only person who appeared not to answer sleeps call did not take in either sight; but instead kneeled within a deep meditation.

It was of course the only being within the group that would call themselves something resembling a thinker; rather than warrior, that person being Reynald's dunmer companion was known now as his battlemage; so well versed was she in the ways of the mage.

Aranea had for the better part of the night abandoned nords to their stockade building and instead placed herself upon the mount of a nearby rock outcropping; sacrifices to her chief deity and calling Azura strewn around her.

It had as was the norm being for naught as her gift of foresight had long since eluded her; but it was not to stop the dunmer as she sat in contemplative silence all the same, hours passed as her prayers were pressed upon her lady.

Then however as the twin moons passed the midpoint of darkened night she could hear the step of light boots behind her; unmistakeable to a person of some centuries experience within battle such as she was.

Breaking her form the dunmer raised herself up and caught sight of who came behind her, who wore a shall of fur around her slender shoulders; which covered the sight of her furs and leathers usually in plain sight.

"Aela" she greeted with an incline of her head; of course instantly recognising the female nord who had became close to Reynald, so that she was 'the lips' to him as 'teeth'. The reply was mirrored in the flame haired nord who came up to the perch of Aranea's; before then settling down onto knees.

"I wonder why you do not sleep with the others; do you not fear we will be called upon early at sun's dawn" Aela asked with her usual fixed gaze; added to with her ever questioning tone, in reply the dunmer return to her previous position and regarded the nord neutrally.

It was true that Aranea had little to do with the companions as a whole; as she regarded them as simple yet capable warriors but little else, the dunmer had lived long enough to see hundreds of such beings both men and mer alike fall battles spanning the continent; there were always more to replace them.

"I pray for the safety of our champion; and your harbinger, so that my lady will watch over him" was the reply which seemed not to cause much surprise in Aela; as the nord knew more of daedric prince's that what she led others to believe.

"you seem to give much of your time in prayer to your lady for the harbingers safety; truly you are devoted" Aela complimented in response though with a questioning tone all the same, the dunmer attributed this to the nature of the nord.

Unlike the other prominent companions who appeared proud and brave in equal measure; Aela instead was something of a more veiled nature, with the eyes of a predator and a personality to match.

"I do what is required of me as follower" Aranea told the nord simply; not willing to match her questions with anything more, she did wonder however why the girl questioned her dedication so suddenly.

Did she suspect some form of intention towards Reynald she wondered.

Then however just as Aela was about to continue on a bright light appeared towards the mount of the wrothgarians stifling any conversation between the pair, lightning its way towards the outer reaches the dunmer could only take it as a sign of declaration from the daedric prince Malacath.

"There will be word soon of the champions fate" she told Aela then with something bordering apprehension, "prepare your companions huntress".


	12. The Rising Din of Battles Far & Near

Hello to any who have been following; reviewing and otherwise lurking, i'd just like to say that due to previous reviews i've decided to tone down the various cameo's by this secondary character and that, as much as i can anyway.

I will say though that there are going to be alot of them even still and not alot are going to get much time in the way of character background; persona's or the like due to it not being relevant to the story arc overall, though some in time depending on improved importance will of course.

So again this will probadly be the last full blooded chapter if it helps people get along, again please read and review.

**_HowAboutThisForAName:_** I'm quite sorry for the massive; uncalled for gap in my posting dates but i will say that i've been undergoing exams; job work and the like which has made it impossible to really get more than one or two hours a day to get down to writing, so you have my apologies dear reader.

_**Vickmackey007:**_Thanks for that i'm glad to hear people enjoyed that chapter; as i wanted to display just how capable Reynald was, i certainly didn't want people thinking he was some frail breton with a big voice so to speak.

Well your certainly right that there is a connection between the orcs and malacath; of course, but i would think that most orcs are very nationalistic and as such would be more for using their own variation of metals rather than daedric sorts. However at the same time how could all of them simply not wish to use armour that is so potent and powerful, so as they are reknowned as being such good smithers i'd definately keep an eye out for your particular idea in the future, thanks for the suggestion.

Also to any reading out there; i'd like to know if any of you think it would be in the stories interests to include the recent DLC, i feel like it could add something to Reynald by giving a closer focus upon him rather than plotlines and battles; which is away from the usual MO, any thoughts ?

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><p>Within the realm of eastern High Rock; that had only recently been the sight of a great battle between the newly formed dragonborn army and that of Wayrest, there was yet more tension as the reports of the formers movements found their way to queen Carolyna's court.<p>

It had reached the ears of the queen that her would be enemy was moving the entirety of his army further within the province, the queen in response called an urgent counsel to discuss the matter.

Queen Carolyna first said "It's been reported that the dragonborn and his army have took up from their position; marching southwards towards the heartlands of High Rock which naturally skirts our borders, garrison's have already settled defences but our army is still scattered. We must assume the peace offering has been declined"

The words were spoken with a heavy sign by the queen; who faced the possibly of her sister being either captured or killed by her enemy Reynald Manis. One of her senior counsellors named Anton Kingshearth then said "The army within the city numbers nearly eight hundred and some my queen; while the outlying settlements have youths and men aplenty to bolster our ranks at this time of crisis. Why not announce a general call to arms and rally your subjects. My guess would be that we can hold the walls of the city until the legions from the wrothgarians can settle this dragonborn; so that we have no need to worry".

The speech while seemingly sensible did not please the queen too much; as she all too keenly remembered that this army had only so recently routed her garrison and shattered the army's confidence.

"Am I to wait upon those imperials to save our skins while my sister and friend remain in the hands of this rebel, I do not think I can face it" She said in response thinking that a desperate battle would be better than having to receive any help from those same imperials who had caused her such grevious hurt before.

But it was apparent to the queen that the advice of her advisors would fall around what Anton suggested, for he was one of her most senior of advisors; who favoured a cooling of relations with the imperial garrisons for the sake of necessity.

The opposing group who favoured the opposing side of her expansive court were noticeably silent or blatantly absent, due to the lack of appearance from Julien Luitte. He was the de-facto leader of her advisors who favoured a colder approach to the empire and her Daggerfall minions, instead relying on relations with the orc kingdom and those of Hammerfell.

The queen faced posing the question of asking help from her ally in the orc king Shura, most likely to be outright dismissed by the insistent Anton who unfortunately at times was a leading member of one of the four pillared families.

Instead she was distracted by movement at the entrance of her throne room as two of her silver cloaked; similarly armoured guards pushed open the gates from the outside in. Hastily they went to a knee at an the start of the half before announcing "Presenting your majesty's heir and Princess Isabella, with Counsellor Julien Luitte"

The queen and the court in unison then turned to see the pair entering the throne room with little ceremony; with both looking to be in their usual health with rich yet fashionable clothes adorning them.

It brought not a little joy to the queen as they approached in such style and good health, as it had tormented her for days having sent the pair on such a gambit.

The pair quickly came upon the dais of the queen; with Julien lowering himself at the foot of the queen on one knee humbled, "I offer the deepest of apologies to you my queen; for keeping your sister and news from you" the counsellor turned diplomat offered; to which the queen could only rise and take his hand in hers.

"You have brought me back my sister not to mention yourself Julien; which takes a weight of my heart, but our enemies move towards our borders. What can you tell me of your mission" the queen asked with genuine warmth; not tempered by the news of her enemies movements even as she embraced her sister.

Julien then waited until the queen ascended to her throne once again before reporting "I have spoken with the leader of the dragonborn army; and with some choice words I have managed to deter him from any intention towards our kingdom my queen. Furthermore I have managed to secure a pact so that he would guarantee no further aggression upon our borders, at the cost of some grain and another hostage of his choosing my queen".

"How does your pact stand up against the report of the enemy moving towards our outer settlements Julien, I think you have been thought a fool" his opposing member Anton; who stood to the queen direct right said with a small smile, Julien however was quick to fix him with an annoyed look.

"I do not think your logic is sound Counsellor; for if this pact was to be forfeit then why would our supposed enemy allow myself and the princess free, I think it out of character for a man who has already proven himself cunning. Further still why would he on the last report manoeuvre his army around the flank of Krathgarn, rather than cut directly through the northern fields and separate the cityscape from her outer grannies; it would seem that his word will be kept"

"A valid point Julien" Anton conceded with some underlying ire, asking then to upset his chief political rival "Where then does this dragonborn take his army then, if he is not moving to siege our city"

The fine looking breton answered all too easily "In my opinion the dragonborn wishes to push further ahead into the centre of the province; perhaps to ally with our own orcish allies, so that they may force a battle upon the imperial garrisons upon the wrothgarians"

"And what guarantee have you given to this dragonborn, so that he is assured we don't fall upon his rear" Anton again prodded; not at all happy with his ever intelligent opponent shining.

The queen who was still confused at her sisters own arrival was eager to here the answer; with Julien telling her and the assembled court "In order to secure a cease in hostilities I have promised a measure of grain to be delivered to the dragonborn army, with the common belief of such a levy being placed around one twentieth of the offering kingdoms supply. The hostage required is your recently defeated captain Zaric my queen; and no other".

The queen like her court seemed to take the news with not a little confusion, as giving up a princess for a paltry offering of grain and one minor soldier appeared to be unwise at best; idiotic at most.

"This rebel leader turns down my sister; a princess in favour of some grain and one warrior, the divines themselves are not so kind" the queen said after a moment; taken by surprise just like her surrounding attendants, but Julien however was quick to speak up again however.

"I spoke at length with this man who calls himself dragonborn; and I believe he was sincere in his words when he told me he wished no ill will against our kingdom my queen, I believe returning your sister is a show of faith" Julien told her with some conviction, wanting to cement the idea of non-aggression within his leaders mind.

Then the princess who until now had remained to his side dutifully then came forward while reaching into the folds of her silken cloak, before then producing the sparkling jewelled necklace presented to her by the dragonborn on their meeting; "Another measure of his goodwill my sister, a necklace of some considerable enchantment. I was told it offers some measure of benefit to a person's health". Then the princess brought the necklace forward and offered it to the queen who took it in hand.

It was as seen by the princess sparkling and luminous so that the queen; as a woman of wealth and such trinkets took it into hand with gladness, "A fine piece surely, but what do you make of it; Toxteth" she asked to her resident court mage who as always stood dutifully at her side.

The man who was haggard old hand of High Rock descent took it into hand; and with a well versed incantation he took a measure of the enchantment within.

"An enchantment of the very vibrant and life promoting" the rough looking breton said excitely; so that the queen took it back into hand and took it appreciatively.

"This is the finest of things it seems, so naturally it must be presented upon the finest of persons" she said then; offering it to her sister who accepted with as always humility.

The matter of what action to be taken was still present however; and as the gift was decided upon Anton again pressed saying "My lady it is all well and good for gifts and promises of non-aggression, but we are naturally subjects of the imperial authority and as such we must provide for the destruction of these rebels".

The queen who was naturally hesitant to lend aid in such a fashion was clearly not in favour; and as such hesitated and stalled so that the court awaited her decision for some moments, "It is truthful that our kingdom is subject to the call of the imperial authority, but it would be distasteful to risk more of my subjects in order to appease the will of the imperials"

Again Anton was quick to say "But my lady; this rebel has taken two of your subject cities and laid much disgrace upon your armies, to simply sit back and allow him to score further successes is the wrong course"

This was cause enough for the queen to take reflection upon the good words of her advisor, but before it could settle Julien stood forward and offered his thoughts.

The refined looking gentlemen pessed again "My queen it seems to me that it is common for those of a haughty and small minded sort to seek revenge for past wrongs; so that one's dignity may appear beyond reproach, but I say that any such action will bring the full wrath of this dragonborn upon your kingdom".

"Please explain your reasoning to me my friend; so there is no confusion in this matter" the queen asked; Julien then unfurling the same persuasive tongue that had taken Reynald in.

He explained then to all assembled "To say anything of our relationship with the imperial is of the same kind between teeth and lips; with the imperials as the lips that protect ourselves, as the teeth from the cold. Yet my lady how could anyone; much less yourself forget that the imperials were the chief culprits in the failed defence and subsequent destruction of our chief city, much less the slaughter of your exalted husband"

"To say that we should risk all to placate the imperial garrisons is to set about reason and forsake ourselves; much less could we is foolish, for the strength of this would be enemy far surpasses our own. While we ourselves hold some eight hundred trained men; and how many untrained auxiliaries, this dragonborn has called forward hundreds of bandits; brigands and men at arms so that his own force eclipses ours by some measure"

"His force is supplemented still by the support of this new stormcloak hegemony; not to mention the hundreds of nords both grizzled and fresh who cross the border chanting as they do, 'Ysmir; dragon of the north to who I owe my life and allegiance' so that he has now a force to rival the legions that guard the wrothgarians, if this crafty hero was to ally with king Shura how then could we oppose".

The speech to queen Carolyna seemed much to the point; and opposed as she was to the empire she could only agree in principle to commit to the ceasefire offered, Anton however was still much maligned and said "and what if this dragonborn is soundly defeated and subsequently ousted by the imperial army, which is sure to come to pass" was the question asked.

Quick as a whip Julien answered "Over the coming cycles the grannies are filled; the smiths are put to work and the soldiers are drilled to provide for the dangers of the reach, I give it fifty days until the conclusion of the conflict is drawn so that then; we may be able to act according to circumstance and take what advantage is available"

"Your words give me all the hope in world my friend, it is as you say" the queen said to end matters there, sulkily Anton and his supporters withdrew while Julien was asked to provide Zaric with direction.

"I only work towards your benefit my lady, never shall I falter one step" he answered in response before leaving off with his own party; leaving the queen alone with her remaining family.

Leaving the throne room by way of the queen's entrance the pair of regal ladies made their way to the adjoined sitting room; which was filled with all the furnishings fit for the relaxation of the monarch, by the by servants brought in refreshments.

There the sisters took into an embrace and exchanged pleasantries expected of two siblings; always close but recently separated, so that there was much tears and emotion.

"I am sorry about the way I used you in the way I did; but I could think of no other way my sister" the queen said with deep affection, with Isabella quick to quiet her with a warm hand upon her sisters own however.

"I would suffer through any fate required to serve you my sister, you are my queen and my greatest love" she said warmly; with yet more declarations passing between the pair. Then however a small meal was served and after it the queen posed some questions to her sister.

"I'm sorry that I must do this now; but I must ask you some questions of this so called dragonborn, do you think he is as Julien says" Carolyna asked; having now made up her decision up quite completely.

Isabella thought about it for a long moment before then saying "Truthfully I met the man for only a few moments; but it seemed that he was genuine with Julien and willing for peace, he seemed very comfortable with Julien and complimentary towards both of us"

The queen took it on faith then that the man at least seemed willing for peace then, however she pressed on and asked "Tell me about this dragonborn then, I have heard the terrible claims from my own leaders that he can shout away arrows and create great storms. What sort of man does he seem; what look does he have about him" were the queries, Isabella again took a moment to decide before saying hesitantly.

"The man is breton in race; he is of a middling stature but has the strong build akin to a soldier, his face is handsome but not overtly so; yet neither is he covered in many disfiguring scars and blemishes expected of a warrior. He speaks well enough but it is clear he is not of noble birth; nor does he have the extravagance of any such origin, his retinue around him suggests that he is wide minded while his actions and conduct; mild as they are lead me to believe he is more than a simple brute" was what the princess told her sister; which allowed for some respite within the queen's mind.

She asked then "do you think then that he is a man to be reasoned with, as Julien says" which was the sole reasoning behind her enquiry.

"I believe that this man at least for now appears conciliatory towards ourselves; and he poses a great threat to the imperial prescience within high rock, as Julien says we must act as opportunity presents itself" was the reply; which pleased the queen.

"Then it seems that my decision for now is to endure" said the queen with her mind made up.

* * *

><p>Of course it was not simply the kingdom of Wayrest that was concerned with the sudden movement of Reynald's imposing army, and by way of both proclamation and their own scouts the imperial garrison upon the wrothgarians heard of his oncoming encroachment.<p>

Furthermore it was reported that the previously defunct furnaces of orsinium had flared up; while the orcs had shut themselves of behind their thick walls, further still any approach by imperial patrols was met by violent patrols of orcs so that the nearby imperial townships shuddered in fear.

All of this was discussed within the imperial fortress _Forlorn Heights _which dominated the peak of the wrothgarians, therein lay the local command of the imperial garrison.

Now this position had originally been held by the commanding general of all the legions within High Rock; but upon the death of the last general his replacement had taken himself to Daggerfall to better coordinate between his legions and that of the fleets situated across the bays of High Rock; at least officially.

Then it fell to the ranking first legate of the ninth legion; who was a man named Calvius Nebian, this man was a staunch imperial that had came from the most powerful of families within the imperial court; so that he was naturally provided for beyond his age to such a commanding post.

Now having been raised as a high born Calvius was as a youth spoilt and haughty; so that following his appointment as an officer his ill suffering of anyone of common birth regardless of capability had only increased, furthermore he was both harsh and rigid so that his men remained constantly at arms and always alert.

He had at his immediate disposal two legates beyond the rest; both of which were fellow imperials and brothers who had served with him from the start, Crito and Lucan were their names. Both were career soldiers of good birth that proved themselves under the previous general.

With that he had the counsel of two advisors of some difference; Raxle who was of an advanced age and Codus who was a former tribune, now an invalid due to the loss of a hand.

Crito spoke first "It seems that the rebel has amassed a sizeable force; at least two thousand men on our scout's last reports, nords and breton's judging by their banners and sigil's" was the report; which only confirmed the fears of those assembled.

They had all heard that a man named Reynald Manis had surfaced within Skyrim; and on that basis Codus had been dispatched to settle the rouge imperial officer, only after the imperial had returned with the loss of a hand and some two dozen men had any of these men known of his ascension to dragonborn.

This was followed by the subsequent retreat of the fourth legion and Skyrim's newly found independence, the defeat of Wayrest and the arrival of the 'dragonborn' army was the secret terror of the ninth legions officers; with all of them reacting miserably to the news.

"So that butcher's son really thinks he can contend with the might of the legion with some breton peasants and a few hundred rabid nords does he" was what the hard faced; but youthful imperial legate asked those assembled around, to which the only reply was of course conciliatory.

Crito who spoke before; who was like his commander still in his relative youth reported "It seems the bluebloods have decided to upstart along with Reynald's own, watch commander's report that armoured orcs and ruffians alike have been massing near the sunken gates and the approach of Norvulk"

On that Raxle said "We are in dangerous territory then it seems; as the orcs would be not easily contained if this threat was to assault our rear at Norvulk and break our flank, swift action must be taken"

The legate asked what the most veteran of them suggested; with the reply being "If this threat falls on the rear of Norvulk we will be pushed to the mountainside of the wrothgarians; which would allow Reynald room to push along the coastline and further inland, rather we should send two cohort's with support to garrison Azra's crossing."

"There we can stop the whole of this force no matter what the strength; but only defence must be relied upon, that done we can send orders for both Shomhelm and Evermor to send a force against the flanks of these rebels; then if we summon the legion from Daggerfall I swear by it that they would all be captives by the beginning of sun's dawn".

Codus was not even to let the legate reply as he himself angrily said "Are we to listen to the words of bookworms and wizards while a traitor brings an army down upon us, it would take no more than two cohorts to settle this rabble; and take that bastard Reynald prisoner"

"These men have only recently dispatched a large force of Wayrest and are flushed with victory, opposing them would only invite a defeat" was the clipped reply from Raxle.

At that Calvius angrily replied himself saying "How can I as an officer of the legion allow a traitorous officer and his band of rebels free to wreck havoc across imperial territories; or ask for the help of those too incompetent to defend their own holds, no we shall deal with matter ourselves"

Raxle was insistent though and again reasoned; "Legate I respect that you feel the necessity to punish someone who has disgraced the record of this legion, however I insist that facing these rebels now would not be the best course of action; consider this."

"Reynald himself I have heard lately has become a hero that overtopples the whole of Tamriel; as many can attest to his ability to shout as if he was the mightiest of dragons, therefore as a warrior he is without peer and as such cannot be matched on the field of battle. Those that follow him are of course mixed of race and allegiance; so that they are his real weakness, if you would but garrison the crossing and wait out the winter; you would find an enemy rife with unrest and easy to defeat; attack and you will incite further calamity I fear"

At hearing this the legate pulled free his sword and sliced through the corner of their stratagem table; saying harshly "I have been placed in command of this region and holding the walls would only bring shame upon us; to even consider it is dereliction of our duty, anyone who suggests it forthwith will be punished will face the same fate as this edge"

Seeing his leader so obstinate Raxle relented and said nothing as duties were delegated, then Crito and Lucan were given the tasks of containing the orcs within their small territory; While Raxle was sent to guard the supplies at the mountainside depot fort snowfall for his previous hesitation.

The eldest advisor was upset rather than angry; as the fate of the army rested within the advice given by the ill tempered Codus. He retired to his post however as the garrison set out without another objection however.

Now having been so riled the orcs both martial and mage had all banded together to follow under the banner of their king, but they were as planned for hemmed in on both approaches by the third cohort of the ninth legion, with Crito and Lucan each having took a position to assure Calvius of his flank.

The legate himself set out with the fifth and seventh cohorts assigned to his position who were both veteran and fresh in equal parts; with all the fine steel weapons and coated leathers expected of the professional force, drums and flags sounded and waved as they set out on their way as they marched out of the passes towards the encroaching rebels.

The legion encamped then camped at Azra's crossing and erected wooden fortifications upon its eastern and foremost bank, then Calvius settled his cohort's at the forefront of the position beyond the gates of the crossings fortification in a bold showing. All the legions pristine valour was shown through the drums; flags and well maintained discipline therein.

Having settled the legate with his men could watch the oncoming enemy that approached; who came from the hills and valleys that led from the reach, since the land surrounding the position was narrowed by a river and cliffs to the south. While from the mountains and gorges to the north all the many men of the dragonborn came forward like a swarm of ants upon scorched ground.

Unlike the legionnaires who opposed them these breton's and nords came forward in loose groupings and showed little discipline; yet with their captains and leaders they looked bold and ready with all the pomp and panoply of war. They approached under the constant striking of drums and clattering shields so that the whole of the place vibrated in union; with their warhammers and battleaxes creating a fearsome sight in unison.

The legate's personal staff counted slightly less then that what scouts had reported; which only pleased him further save for the mean look of his adversaries.

Though this was again seemingly for naught as towards the forefront of the army was the seeming grand hero of the army who was seated between two grand flags inscribed '_Reynald Manis. Ysmir. Dragonborn. Saviour of Tamriel. Heir to the Seat of Sundered Kings and Dragon of the North"_, while around him was many brave looking hero's in horn helmets and scaled armour; each one with the bearing of a hero with broad greatswords and menacing warhammers.

The champion himself appeared like a born conqueror with his menacing dragon scaled armour; powerful grey war horse and broad elvin sabre resting upon his back, none in the legion could recognise the man as his features were concealed behind a dragon horned helmet taken from the great slain creatures of Skyrim.

Having seen the quality of the enemy that faced him then; which consisted of brave nordic warriors from as far as the rift as well as High Rock natives and reachmen who were all magically gifted and skilled in arms, Calvius resolved that his army would attack only in unison and resist all personal challenges.

The legate ordered his two cohort's into six divisions of men which consisted of three frontline primes made up of the entirety of the seventh cohort to directly engage the enemy; while two divisions of support consisting of archers and some few mages themselves native to High Rock, meanwhile one division under the command of Codus to provide support when needed.

Seeing the legion move out in force the dragonborn's own army rumbled like a great beast and came forward themselves to meet it; with their powerful looking leader at the head. Like a formless mass the styled rebels rushed forward as the legion marched themselves with purpose.

The clash was terrible as both sides crushed together in a cauldron of steel and vigour that was amplified by showers of arrows from each flank, thick as rain the showers of arrows were further added to by bursts of magicka striking each line in powerful discharges of flames and ice.

The legate was conspicuous by his absence from the front of the lines as his chief adversary pressed forward without thought or caution; but the strict formation of the three divisions excused him then to direct the press as best as possible.

This behaviour of the imperial force meant that the tangled nords and breton's alike could make not a dent in the lines of their foes; nor could the showering of arrows overhead do much to break the lines, rather still it was left to the battling dragon warrior in the midst of the press to urge his party forward.

Getting up a run the flying party of braves pushed forward into the central division allowing the chief warrior with his broadsword to strike out this way and that so legionnaires gave way before him, fearing the irresistible look and legend of the man none dared directly engage him so that he cut his deep into the division.

The target of the assault was the standard bearer who held up his legion colours proudly against the onslaught of this warrior who was overwhelming to the legion, bravely he again forced his way forward and with one savage slash the banner fell to entice his own men on.

Seeing the standard fall if only for a few moments the army of the dragonborn pressed on with relish followed in force by a central core of heroic nord warriors; who having made some headway forced the legion to narrow themselves in order to support their central position. This way and that the dragon warrior again pushed forward so that the battle shifted to the favour of the styled rebels even as the imperials vainly attempted to keep their position.

Worsted as they where the legion could hold as their foes pressed them back across their lines; so that the dragonborn army experienced success but not beyond a minor advance. This meant that having battled well into the midday and having dealt some measure of damage upon their enemy the invading army drew off as the warriors began to tire on either side.

The legate having then been worsted set up guards so that every position was filled and no avenue of approach was allowed; meanwhile the opposing army took up camp in the flat fields just before the imperials own. An abandoned fort was there to their right flank and the natural slope of the land to their left.

The leader of this newly victorious force was of course not Reynald but rather his lieutenant Detritus; who held both the prowess and leadership ability to play the part of commander, he called together his own victorious band of imitators and the chief captains of the place inside the erected camp.

Now within the main camp the banquet was taking place with all those warriors who had followed Detritus into the legions lines placed in the seats of honour; while the other commanders and captains who had lead the remaining force were relegated to the surrounds.

Detritus who was the leading man of the party and commander of the central camp was proud and boastful of his achievement; saying to those around him after many rounds of wine and ale "They say that we men from High Rock are inferior to the nord's and orcs; yet here we are all as men of our place wading amongst the imperials as if they were high grass, certainly none could match us men from Dwynnen"

All the men there cheered and hollered with around him, only for then one of the commanders past Detritus's own men; Ulrich to shout out "Who are you lot to take all of the credit when we all braved the arrows and the spears of our enemy, my own men lye bleeding in their tents for their good service and what do they get in the service"

Detritus got up then quite intoxicated and drew his fine sword while roughly shouting "Your lot of rabble shoved against shields and threatened to run while those with me braved the depths of our enemy, so settle your mouth runt or face losing your head"

Ulrich at that rushed forward as if to cut their assigned leader down; only for his men to restrain him while Detritus own did the same. Then another commander of rank Kastus stepped in then and ordered all parties removed so that the celebration ended ill mannered.

The night passed without further incident so that in the following morning both sides arrayed against each other in a show of strength, the imperials rested behind their barricades with their archers and mages resting behind the formed ranks.

The opposing force of where likewise arrayed with the men at arms and braves at their front; with their archers and mages formed in behind. Detritus acting under his guise roved across his lines lustily on his steed at the forefront while Ulrich and Kastus alike commanded a flank each.

Remembering how fearsome his enemy had been previously; along with his own soldiers seeming hesitation Calvius decided to let the vigour of his enemy wear itself down, calls from their enemy to fight were settled by a discharge of arrows so that no attempt could be made on the imperial lines.

The day passed much like this well into midday with the restless dragonborn army not managing to brave the arrows of the imperials, then unsatisfied the drums and flags of the force ordered a withdrawal as dusk began to set.

That was what the imperials waited on however and as the force began to steadily withdraw Calvius ordered his ranks forward in the same trio of legions; with two other divisions out in support. Seeing their enemy now coming on Detritus ordered his men to turn and again lead the strike into the ranks of the ninth legion.

The battle was confused and half hearted on the side of the dragonborn with all their forward ranks having been spent in the days exertions; while the legion had remained rooted within their encampment, resolved to retreating the rebels were heavily smote with even their brave of a leader being pushed back against the onslaught.

By the by Calvius expected those on the flank of the main force to pull in and support so that he held his own; but it then became apparent that they would not as the both flanks retreated away without coming to those in the press with aid. Having seen this Calvius ordered his army full on and with that the imperials smote them some many lengths until the boundaries of the opposing camp.

There by way of some desperate fighting the dragonborn army managed to make the imperials fall back and retreat, however the defeat was heavy with loses and severe injuries counted in the small hundreds.

Settling his army to collecting their dead and preparing the wounded the commander Detritus wrathfully ordered his brother Uccaren as his personal guard to bring the two offenders to their main camp, as the moment progressed however and night began to fall reports of fires burning across both flanking camps met Detritus.

A group of scouts dully reported "Ulrich has gathered up the few hundred of his following and fortified himself within the abandoned fort to the north; while Kastus has taken the entirety of his force and removed himself beyond the slope of the river banks, no one has followed"

At that the already riled breton raged and hastily summoned all those still standing together around the central camp. In the hundreds those who were not sent to retrieve the wounded stood and awaited their commanders word.

He appeared before his own camp then in the still soiled dragon armour saying then "We have faced a defeat today and now our fellows have been seen to abandon us to the wolves; but I warn you all now that everything shown is not as it seems. Tonight I wager that the imperials will attack and attempt to rout us completely, so we will wait in ambush for their attack and strike at them when they come"

Bulwark who was a nord nominated to act as one of Detritus's guards asked then from the ranks "What of those who has blown into the wind, we are many but our brothers have deserted us and our flanks are exposed; can you expect us to fight without guarantee"

At that Detritus took up the gleaming sabre he kept at all times and brandished it dangerously saying "I am the man amongst all who braved the arrows and the destruction of our enemy to bring us a victory; where all provincials have always typically failed, now I ask you as brave nords and men of High Rock can you do any less than I"

Then the men immediately around riled up banging shields and they too brandished their weapons; so that they seemed martial and confidant, secretly however all those from the first rank and behind all felt unsure and fearful.

"My brother Uccaren will be seen to lead a raid to contain Ulrich and his traitors; all of you are to appear in hiding in certain places and await the oncoming imperials. But when the red flamed signal is sent into the air all are to turn themselves towards the imperials and forget any perceived slights" was the last command from Detritus.

* * *

><p>Night then fell and with that Detritus ordered all his men to light their lamps and fires as per the norm so that the camp looked filled and expected; but in secret ordered his men this way and that so that they camp secretly remained empty, every gulley and outcropping of hill was filled around the north-western and south-western entrances of the entrenched encampment.<p>

Meanwhile Detritus gave certain orders to his brother with those being that he should take some two hundred men; clear the small distance between the camp and the fort to invite an assault on Ulrich. These men all had torch's lit and their weapons clanging to show their intention in the still night darkness.

All this of course was reported to the imperial first legate who rode out to survey the scene himself, all he could of course deduce was that there was in fact dissent within his opposition.

He told his associate Codus and accompanying officers "I saw earlier that those renegades who supported the arch rebel were lax in their duties and failed to support their supposed commander; and now we see that he has sought retribution against those same men, furthermore the scouts have reported that some hundreds were seen melting away following the defeat"

"You think that it is right to strike them then" was what Codus guessed correctly, Calvius could hardly deny his chief desire.

"Reynald is nothing but a fish mongers son and the daughter of a whorish type of the lowest class; how could I as a man of the legion allow him to promote his rebellion across my charge, tonight I will see him brought to justice by my own hand"

Then there was word from the outlying banks that one man had came forward asking to speak to the commander; who when hustled forward and presented was a man bearing news from Ulrich's camp.

The hustled forward breton rebel said then "My master has rather wrongfully took up sides with the arch rebel and now his hatred is directed at him, if you would but pardon his fault he would strike from within while you strike from without. Then victory is assured for yourselves"

The legate could hardly believe it and roasted the man on how he had escaped from the encircled fort and the designs of his leader, but all the man's words where fine and as he was already set upon the idea the legate ordered all his men to be formed up in silence as the night reached its midpoint.

The legionnaires wrapped their weapons in cloth and muzzled their horses so that all sound was lessened for the approach, all of them with their weapons readied moved in formation to the base under the cover of darkness. After one tense call of the watch the vanguard of the imperials met the camp of the dragonborn army.

There they saw that lights only burned around the fortified walls of the northern fort under the exterior enclosure; while the camp itself was darkened and seemingly lacking in sentries.

Calvius could hardly believe his good fortune and on that ordered his choice division to skirt north under tree cover to smite those seen exposed. Two were further in support while another three under his choice tribune Atitucus took to assaulting the southern gate approach.

None showed any real concern for a trap and instead the legionnaires with their officers in their midst pulled free their weapons, bows where latched with arrows while spears and swords where set to strike on the forward lines.

Calvius hastened his men along around the loose stockade to come upon the aforementioned fort before riling his men up with an ordered drum bolt; and then with aplomb the vanguard broke ranks and rushed for the exposed rear of the punishing rebel force.

The preagreed upon fire bolt into the sky highlighted the approach of the legion.

The attack which was situated in a wedge between both the north camp entrance and forts walls appeared to be nearing critical success as the rebels stirred only half ready and in a haste, but then much to Calvius's dismay the front ranks of his men fell into half cut ditches that stretched along the rear of their enemies lines.

His men were now committed and with their comrades down the vanguard looked for a way around the stretch; while others where commanded to help their fellows from the ditches.

Meanwhile the two hundred or so under Uccaren who had been used as bait sprang into action with their weapons consisting of long spears to strike those in the ditches; bows to pelt their enemy officers and swords and axes to fend off their common legionnaires, all of this added to a muddled engagement with the imperials at a disadvantage.

Knowing now that he had been misled Calvius wished to retreat his men; but he was held in place by what would be said if he had left those in front to die in the mud. Instead he ordered his men forward Calvius hoped to use sheer force to set his force right.

Keeping a tight reign of his horse while in the midst of his confused soldiers; the legate ordered a nearby sergeant to get word to his supports to fill his flanks, at that point however a series of drums where sounded around causing the legionnaires to stiffen in surprise.

This was followed by the northern gate opening to reveal some hundreds of eager soldiers who came forward with ferocity impressed upon them by their desperate position; followed by more revealing themselves from the surrounding hills and lay-bys.

Calvius was so shocked he could barely defend himself from a flight of arrows aimed from the now bustling walls of the fort, "You have fallen into the trap of my masters doing" was the cry of Ulrich's from his battlement so that the legate knew he had been gamely tricked.

Subsequently attacked on three flanks with those inside the fort pouring forward the legate hastily ordered a withdrawal of his men; even as his supporting divisions came forward with their shields primed for the usual thrust and shove.

At this same moment those who had been sent to assault the southern gate where aware of the battle sounding from the other place and took it only as a sign that things progressed according to plan, which that in his mind Atticus pressed his men on valiantly at the forefront to breach the weak gates of the encampment.

Therein however they found waiting for them the would be dragonborn seated on a pitch black charger with his elvin sabre ready in hand; and all those who had fought beside him in the vanguard standing by ready in their multitudes.

Atticus stalled for only a moment before he rallied his men with an upturned spear; before then ordering a forward advance into the midst of his opponents, thinking of nothing but to follow their valorous leader the imperials pressed in behind the young imperial as he met Detritus head on with the clattering of shields and ready blades all around the pair.

The combat that was so energized would last for only a few moments from behind the veil of the outcroppings surrounding the southern entrance; out came a hidden force of some three hundred that discharged arrows and came forward in equal measure.

The ambush being there and present meant that the imperials in support were forced to meet this new threat and at that their vanguard was left exposed, but owing to his own martial prowess Atticus the tribune fought valiantly so that his own men were compelled to stand and fight rather than turn and run.

Now on both approaches the imperials having been ambushed where then pressed hard by their opponents who had gamely hidden so that more than one flank was exposed, however the imperial legion being so drilled and professional as they were; could not simply turn and run making the battle a fierce contest.

This promised to continue on beneath the lights of the encampment and that of the opposing fort; perhaps until the break of dawn. However at some length flames could clearly be seen to rise up from that of the imperial camp in behind.

One of those many guards around the struggling first legate were quick to point this out shouting "Flames from the camp sir; the bastards have gotten in behind us"

The legate turned in suprise and saw the flames and smoke but he could neither believe nor understand it, his men also saw this and all in one began to feel their confidence shrink away as the blaze intensified.

Those too within the ranks of the dragonborn force of course saw the blaze and as the flames rose so did their own intensity, each one man became supremely brave knowing that there enemy was attacked in behind; so that they all exerted themselves fully and began to push the imperials away into a crush.

Seeing the situation being so desperate the advisor Codus ordered the flags of retreat hoisted; and with that all the legions from the rear to the forward turned away and began to withdraw in a hot haste, it being only through the advisor's orders for those in the reserve to shoot in streams of arrows that their army was not completely smote as they turned.

The now victorious army appeared not to pursue but rather instead they got a firm hand to all those captured and wounded, the legate who was in the middle of his trampling ranks could not bear to turn and see men of his own legion held against the swords of 'mere rebels'.

Detritus who had opposed him was now prowling beyond his encampment ordered loudly as the press was broken "Contain all the imperials wounded and captured alike within the fort to the north, all those who are ready and eager form into ranks beyond the camp"

None of those around him; nor the hundreds strewn across the camp and beyond it could think to press further onto the camp of the imperials beaten or otherwise, but the darkness while framed by the red hue of the imperials camps allowed many to think that this would be the moment for success.

Before their ranks formed up and they set off to smite the crossing Detritus ordered a similar; yet more illuminating orb of magical energy to be sent up into the air, there it exploded brilliantly to be seen for some miles all around the battleground.

Beyond the immediate explosion was the retreating legion that in their hundreds rushed away to their fortification not knowing how the now bustling flames were started, within their ranks was the legate who could only look upon the signal with not a little fear.

* * *

><p>The signal however was not there for the well beaten legionnaires and their panicked leader; but the true architect of the rebellion who had stolen behind the imperial lines some weeks ago.<p>

The signal was for Reynald of course who had waited for three cold days and nights within the winding caverns of the wrothgarians; kept company by those few that he had brought along on his task of recruiting the kingdom of orsinium to his cause.

Leaving his orders with his trusted lieutenants he had led his companions to some obscure cave face well away from the prying eyes of the imperial outposts, there they had delved into the inner recesses of the great mountain expanses caverns in order to progress Reynald's stratagem.

It had been then a day and some many watches before the group had made it to one of the many narrow passes that led further upwards into the wrothgarians, with most of these leading to the petty villages and broken pathways situated around the base of the mountain reach. This particular pathway was solidly walled with metals and bindings magical and otherwise so that it appeared impassable.

Reynald guaranteed those sceptical within the band that his thu'um was strong enough to rend the barrier useless against his incursion, however there was still those within the small grouping that found the plan to be flimsy at most.

All of them had gathered a length before the barrier in an area where a pool of water; covered in foliage and topped with a fissure had allowed for access to the sky above, Aranea held a there for for sight of the signal that Reynald had waited on not a little.

Farkas was again the brunt of the argument; saying to his harbinger between the action of mending a damaged shoulder pad "I still don't understand why we're here skulking in the shadows while others fight and gain glory, those lot of bretons you've gathered won't be enough for the legion"

Reynald was close by the irate nord and with a raised hand; covered in his signature dragonborn quieted Vilkas who moved to rebuke his brother, calmly he replied "Fighting as you say isn't enough to beat the legion; as they are the finest fighting force outside of the mer hegemony. We will have to resort to guile and stratagem if we wish to beat them; brute strength and blind valour is not enough".

Farkas was unimpressed and again haughty commented "You say they are the best fighting force within the empires old provinces yet Ulfric and his stormcloaks were able to push them from Skyrim; with hardly a little help to your grand efforts. Why not call those dragons loyal to you and smite them with your great thu'um"

Under his unkempt facial hair and dishevelled autumn curls the dragonborn wryly thought how much truth there was to be seen in the old saying 'a nord is one half steel; the other half fur'.

He took a moment before saying "Summoning dragons and storms is an escalation that I neither desire; or feel inclined towards in order to win this particular battle. Both serve no advantage in this moment at least, especially not against the legion which I wish to convert to my cause"

The shield brother of his asked with more civility "You used it upon those Wayrest pups we smashed some time ago in the east; is it not as good to do so in order to show your dominance".

This question brought a smile to Reynald's rugged face and it also perked up the attention of those busying themselves around campfires and cooking around, he answered in a detailed explanation saying "There are four chief reasons why I cannot do as you suggest, firstly there is the matter of Wayrest being a provincial power; while the legion itself is drawn up from many different places to serve the empire; and emperor".

"If I wish to command an empire then the legion is needed to enforce the laws and ensure order; while Wayrest is merely an army of serfs drawn up from the queen's own hold. Therefore if I was to inflict heavy losses upon the legions I would weaken the empire and in that myself; but to reduce the forces of a provincial power ensures dependency"

"Secondly there is the issue of loyalty to my cause and how I could gain their loyalty by slaughtering the rank and file men. It would rather be better to win their hearts and minds by showing them how my divine blessing works beyond the mere tactics and stratagems of their leaders".

"Thirdly it is clear that I must show more than some brutal storms and terrible dragons if I am to be seen as a saviour of men; rather than some horror demanding obedience such as the awful usurper many eons ago, if the men of this legion see that I am a divined man; yet a man none the less they will receive me easier".

"Fourth and foremost I must keep my thu'um as controlled as any Dovah would; for it is not simply some magical trickery nor keen blade to be used at will. I feel the same blood boil beneath my skin now as clearly as Alduin had ever felt; and to simply slaughter those before me in an act of dominance would invite calamity to myself and Tamriel"

The frustrated nord grunted as the oration finished but didn't press on to dissuade Reynald; who he knew was renowned for his single minded approach once his path was set, instead he set about finishing his minor mending while the others carried out washing or similar mending.

The group of warriors had met with a pack of ferocious and starving frost trolls within the maze of caves; they had at no loss settled the creatures.

Now they simply waited for the pre-decided signal from Reynald's chosen second Detritus to move out and complete their own part, it was dependent upon the dunmer who rested above them all beyond the fissure that allowed the night sky upon them in the cavern.

Taking this time Reynald and his followers all in different parts relaxed; rested and removed their arms and armour leaving everything sedated within the cavern.

One watch passed with the battle now raging beyond the wrothgarians before Aranea came back to the fold; with the dunmer landing gracefully while enveloped in the tell-tale violet aura of a slowfall spell.

Above her the sky brightened for a moment with a crimson hue before it returned to the usual oppressive dark, then on the cavern floor Aranea approached Reynald and shook his arm lightly.

Due to his nature and past the dragonborn awoke with a start and at first went for his short blade kept always nearby; but then seeing it was his battlemage he relaxed his grip and awakened himself with a shake.

Aranea in her magnificently spellbound glass armour told him then "The signal has been seen and flames are rising from the imperial encampment, it appears that your lieutenant has played his part well", Reynald on hearing this pulled himself from the rough ground he had lay upon with ease.

He was of course well used to waking at a moment's notice due to his old days in the legion; but those around him took a longer time to rise, all of them however had kept the mainstay of their armours on so that they could ready themselves quickly.

There horses were abandoned in the valley before the caverns they now in habituated so that the group in all were to move on foot; which suited most of them fine. All the nords in the group were strong warriors so that trekking with their armours and arms some many miles was no real difficulty.

"How many miles is it to the supply storehouses, and what is the sort of area we will be moving across" Aela asked while fixing her leather leg bracers along her calf; strapping on the open scabbard of a wicked looking serrated dagger as she finished.

Reynald answered while settling his own scaled armour with now practised ease "After the cavern it's three miles to the mountain reach that overlooks the storehouses; with very little in the form of patrols or outposts, snowy plains and icy mountainsides cover the terrain so everyone must watch their feet"

All of them nords nor Reynald and Aranea had a problem with that sort of thing, so they all ready and able took to the cavern end where Reynald had originally travelled to while they made a makeshift camp.

This part of the caves was confined and suffocated with all the huddled nord's scrapping arms and armours against each other as they made their way forward two by two, Reynald at the head of course was partnered by Aranea who had given him half a yard ahead so as to not impeach his movement.

They travelled some many lengths before finally they reached an impasse; which was at a steep upturn at the farthest end of the limited passageway. There what lay before them was a merging of hardened ores native to the mountain expanses they now inhabited which looked to have been fused with braided iron braces.

"It would take some years to blast through this obstruction with magic; yet it would be impossible through any physical means" Aranea observed with her sharp elvin sight, Reynald at hearing this gave her a knowing smile beneath the dragon horn helmet which rested upon his head.

"The perfect way to stop this orc and that bandit from getting behind the imperial depot; which is of course the very lifeblood of any multitude of men" the dragonborn then said to those assembled in behind him. Now having reached the barrier he began what he came here to do; stepping forward so that he was just before the growth.

There he settled himself while Aranea stepped to his side preparing a strong ward so that now protected Reynald opened his throat and like many hundreds in times past and thundered against the obstruction with his thu'um shouting "_Fus Do Rah_".

Hard wearing and solid as it was the fusion of rock and metal could not stand up to the booming shout; so that with it's sheer force the barrier that led to the innards of imperial lines exploded upwards and outwards into the night sky of the wrothgarians.

That settled the dragonborn took himself forward and pulled himself up through the narrow entryway now vacant of the prior obstruction, behind him his small following all got through on their armoured hands and wrapped knees.

"So this is the wrothgarians then. Seems a lot like Skyrim to me" Vilkas said as he came forward from the cave complex; followed behind by the remainder, all of them agreed due to the falling show and thrashing winds that engulfed the higher reaches of the mountains.

Together they all surrounded Reynald who lost no time in getting his bearings around him, with the twenty or so gathered he told them "Some lengths west of us is the main supply depot of the imperials here in the wrothgarians; which you all must know is the life force of their prescience in this region. We will go there and destroy the stores there and force them into retreating from the plains to alleviate the pressure upon king Shura and our own force, your purpose is to locate the armoury southeast of the stores".

Aela who was first in the ranks asked behind her decorated features "Your sure that's where they still keep their armours and uniforms still, you have been removed from this place for a long time"

The response was sure; but misleading in the same breath with Reynald telling her "Nothing is certain but the fortunes of war; so that you must try your utmost while I deal with the guard, any who are able to succeed will be first among the honours"

That said the dragonborn turned and with his armour and blade set took off towards the direction of the aforementioned supply warehouse; with all his nords and the single dunmer following in behind.

The wind and snow created a harsh night for them as they traversed along the iced pathways and disguised tracks to reach their critical point. However no matter the density of the conditions all of them through not a little racial resistance or experience could deal with the treatment dealt out as Reynald carried a steady pace.

This lasted for nothing more than a third of a watch period before they came upon an uprising hill that when reached; showed an overlook into the imperial position Reynald had told them about previously.

The arrangement there was a base emplaced upon a rare flat expanse of ground that allowed the imperials to emplace several large storehouses and garrisons; all of them heaped with fodder and grains beneath straw roofs and wooden walls.

Surrounding these weak buildings was a ring of wooden steaks some lengths high binded with coiled rope; with adjoining towers and gateways there also. The huddled group of twenty or so warriors noted with a hint of glee that these towers where unmannered and poorly maintained.

"How can the imperials leave all there foods and stores in this desolate hunk of land, with so few soldiers to guard" a close by Vilkas asked Reynald from beneath his own wolf styled steel helmet.

"The passes west and north are guarded by those men of Shornhelm at a distance; while the imperials maintain garrisons south and east of this place, around it is natural defences in all these high mountains and unfordable hills; so that only the route available to us is any real threat. Thankfully my gift bestowed by the divines was able to lead us here; so that we may take advantage of this god sent opportunity" replied Reynald who at that raised himself up from his prone position, then he turned to regard all his following warriors.

"I will go myself into the heart of this place and scatter the old and weak guards placed here; while you all are to sneak in and find the insignia and banners of the imperials. All of you are to meet following the storm; now go and do your duty" the dragonborn commanded to his nord's and single dunmer, then vaulting over the ledge to slip down the icy hillside with some ready grace.

There he stopped himself at the bottom with two firmly placed boots the dragonborn rose up to face the barrier of wooden palisade only a few lengths away, which was complimented directly in front with a top heavy guard tower.

Looking at it with some mirth as to its supposed defensive qualities; the dragonborn summoned those ancient words granted to him by his dragon blood and shouted "_Yol Toor Shul_", with the effect being a torrent of billowing flames that enveloped the immediate wall blocking his advance; so that the decaying wood wilted and split.

This was added to by Reynald summoning a violent surge of destructive energy; which was released in the form of two honed fire blasts that ripped through the already weakened obstruction, causing the wood to snap apart and the adjoining rope to list apart in the fiery flames.

With a final groan the barricade and tower finally fell free onto the nearby storehouse which itself had began to smoke up and catch aflame. Then Reynald marched forward and nimbly leapt through the flames even as it licked at the edges of his bone armour and exposed flesh.

He didn't stall but instead turned past the storehouse that was burning top to bottom to make for the central plain of the supply depot; passing cattle and horses that were already beginning to scare within their pens, meanwhile further on he could see the towers that where manned began to notice the blaze and organise in response.

This was several on duty guards rushing to the rear of the camp with buckets in hand along with lanterns and torches alike, with none of them noticing the importance of the lone figure until they got within some lengths of his person.

"You there; halt and disarm yourself" the lead guard ordered while the rest began to pull free their weapons in response to the bone armoured figure.

Reynald could hardly have agreed and instead pulled free his own keen sword to beckon them forward, but seeing their opponent was covered in actual dragon bone and armed the imperials thought him formidable so that they rushed in a loose grouping to overwhelm; rather than meet individually.

Reynald in response shouted "_Zun Haal_" to send all the drawn swords out of hand as if struck by great force, so that none of the worn looking legionnaires could believe it which allowed the dragonborn to carve through them with his own blade and spells.

This way and that he struck and discharged spells so that the dozen imperials were reduced to half before any could pick up their weapons; with the rest falling to disabling sword wounds and spell castings.

The first legionnaire to recover rushed forward but his blade was held low allowing Reynald to slice him across his left spaulder; which was broken sending him to the ground holding back the blood that spilled from the wound. Another legionnaire himself came at Reynald with his blade risen high to split his helmet but again the dragonborn was too quick and he fell to a lunging slash forward that disabled him across the abdomen.

Now four remained with their blades recovered but by two pair they were worn and old; young and slight in equal measure so that they looked upon their adversary in fear.

"You lot go and tell your captain the dragonborn has come; and make no mistake that if you test me again you will fall, now go" Reynald ordered harshly as his blade dropped to his side in a show of non-aggression. Now having seen the extent of his abilities the four scrambled between them to send the youngest of them away towards the central garrison placed on the eastern side of the base.

The other three looked on dumbly at Reynald was he looked back dispassionately, with a few moments passing before he finally said "You three won't find any luck here; now go to your station and retrieve some potions for your fellows"

None of the three had the stomach to fight such a man so instead they took in what he said and rushed off just as the rest of the camp seemed to grumble at once and come alive, and then from the main garrison which was of the same measure as the rest of the camp; came many legionnaires all armed in full armour including shields; spears; axes and strong composite bows.

They numbered more than seventy strong with the archers taking aim from distance while the spear and axmen cloistered together in a loose half shell formation, central to this being one imperial who made his way forward in a trim black robe with crimson fastenings and sash.

He was of some advanced age which was displayed by his wrinkled face and weathered expression; which became severe upon looking over all his injured men that lay on the floor before the dragon scaled warrior.

"Place your sword on the floor or my men will cut you to pieces" the commander half snarled half ordered at Reynald who after a moment allowed a smile to touch his rough features, his reply was coated in mirth that was made seeminly impossible by the situation presented.

"My old friend Raxle how harshly do you approach, is there no love left between your friend Reynald and old Raxle of Anvil" was what the dragonborn said to make the aged imperial shock even between the ranks of his arranged men.

After a long moment Raxle managed to school his surprise and responded "You where always crafty and full of wiles Reynald; but you've overplayed your hand on this occasion, dragonborn or not you can't face all my men alone"

Reynald didn't falter in his easy tone with the implied threat but instead said easily "Why speak of guile or military matters after such a long time old friend. Is there nothing left between us even after I left my former post"

Raxle outwardly balked as Reynald finished and replied heatedly "Private friendships are nothing compared to an imperials duty to the legion; something which you never held in much esteem, so that any supposed semblance of friendship we had is now over. Furthermore to say you left rather than committed crimes and then escaped is false; not to mention how stained your pleasant appearance seems, we are nothing more than enemies"

Those words had an effect upon Reynald as was apparent by his formerly pleasant face switching into a scowl; along with his words becoming harsh as he said "I gave more friendships to the battlefields your precious legion placed me upon than that dog of a plump kennel you now call commander; so do not you stand there with your dense righteousness and call me the traitor, as it was I who was betrayed by you lot of bastards."

Now having become hostile the two men faced of with each other while Raxle's legionnaires stiffened behind him, after a moment he said with the same unfaltering tone "I've gave everything to ensure the empire survives; so don't expect me to share kindly words with you traitor, furthermore I will do a great service by bringing you to justice"

That said the depot commander ordered his front rank forward with a stiff hand command; so that the first rank of spearmen took up a short charge to surround Reynald by sheer force, but the dragonborn was equal to it and with ease said "_Fus_" so that this rank of men were sent helmet over booted heels backwards in a mass of bodies.

Smugly Reynald chided Raxle saying "I've become the most powerful man in all of Tamriel Raxle; and I am far beyond all these worn out veterans and pups that you command, now run along and tell Calvius his destruction is fast approaching".

A professional soldier as he was Raxle could no more flee from his duty as he could betray the legion; so instead he ordered quickly "Loose your arrows and cut him down now", so that all his surrounding men turned to action; letting arrows howl through the night sky towards Reynald while the infantry rushed forward to carry out the butchers work.

Again however the dragonborn's thu'um came to life and with an drawn "_Fus. Dos. Rah_" the arrows and footmen of the legion where sent uselessly away into the night sky and onto the hardened ground, with none of them being able to contain their panic at having been so easily dealt with.

Still recovering the imperials couldn't act as Reynald marched forward with his sword gripped firmly in hand; stopping only a few lengths from the startled Raxle, there he said calmly despite the overlaying winds and snow "For the best of my years I served the legion; braving the sands of the cats lands fighting raiders armed and frenzied by the elves; so that the legion could be worn down and impaired. Then I served this way and that across the realm in an attempt to do my part and keep the empire strong; with the benefit being that my family was well cared for and safe against any of those south of compassion or humanity".

"Yet for all my years and merits the empire allowed my father and brother both to be slain in the most brutal of fashion; neither do I know what became of my mother or sister. I tell you all this in witness and to hear my pledge of eternal hatred and malice towards those of the ascendancy and any who support their aims. Whether it be man or elve; beast or ethereal creature I will make any who wish to dominate my race a captive within the realm of oblivion; rather than allow them the peace of their own place, such is my unyielding hatred"

Now with a risen voice which was both righteous and indignant in equal measure Reynald with the supreme manifestation of his abilities shouted "_Strun Bah Qo"_ so that the ground rumbled in displeasure along with the winds and drifting snow snapping around now violently and without cease.

The legionnaires could not fathom the force behind the fearsome shout but instead felt fear run to the core of them as slates of ice and throngs of lightening came from the sky; striking all about them with fierce abandon, nor could any hope to resist as that same lighting struck all about them setting fire to the garrisons and storehouses which themselves began to fire and rage even within the maelstrom of the ice storm.

Startled and broken in will the legionnaires turned and fled like pelted rats as the unnatural storm intensified; throwing their helmets and weapons away in an attempt to free themselves of Reynald's efforts all the sooner.

The dragonborn himself stood focused upon that same ground where he had called the storms; in an attempt to restrain the innate malicious intent behind the most powerful of thu'um's.

The reason for such an action came from the dragonborn's desire not to harm either the fleeing legionnaires or those lying injured upon the ground. For there was no good to having a conquered empire without it's legions behind it he knew.

Still Reynald felt the draw of the thu'um reaching out to ensnare him even as he calmed his spirit in the face of the storm; as was taught to him by the master Arngeir, the way of the voice truly was the only way a dovah or dovahkiin could restrain any shout from slaughtering everyone under it's effects.

That meant that the storm continued striking down and pulverising the depot even as the companions moved out from the armoury some ways west of where he stood. Now however none of them wore their own styled nord armours but rather they where concealed in the disguise of the legion; with all the associated insignia and emblems of authority.

At the head of the group was Aranea and Aela alike who Reynald had designated for acting as officers; due to Aranea's skill and Aela's commanding demeanor, both of them therefore held military badges over a suit of imperial forged heavy steel armour along with snow glittering steel swords.

All of them in behind had the traditional light leathers favoured within the legions ranks with the many burly nords having abandoned their traditionally singular weapons in favour of spears; short axes; swords and shields, most of them were uneasy with this and Farkas in particular said "how can any true nord serve using these children's weapons, I could just about cleave through a wolfs chest with this puny blade"

Against the backdrop of the burning garrisons and smoke spewing storehouses the dragonborn could laugh easily at the hulking brute's jibe; with his gait improved by the scene around him.

"Gather mounts and see to those legionnaires; I don't want their deaths on my hands" he then commanded as there was nothing left to be gained; but a fair amount to be lost by staying within the torched depot.

His companions marshalled up horses and administered aid to the injured legionnaires; even with the help of the three legionaries he had scared of into finding potions. With all three of them being ordered by a frightening Vilkas to drop their weapons and tend to their fellow soldiers.

The end result was that under the rapidly dwindling conditions of the actual storm; along with the natural result of numerous fires and explosions rocking the depot Reynald and his men sped off into the night on horseback, leaving the downed legionnaires there to fend for themselves.

Rather than taking the roads that were maintained Reynald led them off some byroad some ways north west of the main imperial position; somewhere that would be rapidly alerted due to the flames rising from the supply storehouse.

Instead they went off the ill beaten track and following winding; icy roads made their way off the wrothgarians expanse to skirt along the low lying fields and tree spans that sided with the great mountain.

Then after yet another watch when the darkness reached its zenith they came to a grove from where nothing could be seen around; with the ground annoying the horses due to it's unsteady nature and the complete darkness aggravating the soldiers.

There Reynald cast an illumination spell which gave his rough features a hoary outline against the night; and with that he commanded "Directly west some many lengths is the settlement Vermeir; two hamlets and slightly beyond the sunken gate which was built by the legion to contain the orcs. Make your way there; saying to the commander that Shornhelm is in league with the rebels and are attacking the supply depot. After when they pass here we shall attack the gate in force"

"You really believe we can accomplish all that with some two score" one of the second generation companions asked; who was a mighty yet youthful nord named Harold War-Bringer.

"War relies more on deception than brute strength; play the part and this will be easy, now go and win me this battle" Reynald said crossly in return; and with nothing left to be said all save the dragonborn rode off towards the gate in question.

Now removed from the battle Reynald could only wander slowly through the trees and gulley's along which he would hear of his enemies passing; or the death of his own force by the warning horns of the legion. There was little time to wait however as after a short length he heard the rumble of some one hundred or more men moving past his position with their torches lit and horns blaring.

That was all the dragonborn needed and whipping up his horse he sped off through the night towards the gate; with little to no concern of the road ahead as he covered the lengths in minutes. there he passed the walls of Vermeir and hurried through one of the little hamlets before he came upon the prominent gate of the legion.

Now there he could see nearly all the remaining one hundred strong legion force where on the walls with their burners and pikes nearby; so that the orcs would not be able to reach the gate without risking the pitch filled pits and uneven ground filled with spike traps, with the place being true to it's name.

There also was his group tying up horses to a nearby post and pretending to move for the ramparts as they were most likely assigned by the now departed commander, therefore Reynald easily rushed for the gate without even a little alert from the legionnaires currently occupied looking out for the orc advance.

The dragonborn sent a single burst of flame into the night sky in signal to those beyond and with a final push charged directly at the double bolted heavy gate beneath the battlements. Then seeing his approach his fellows took up their weapons and struck out at any legionnaires nearby knocking many to the ground.

Again only a few legionnaires could pick up on this as beyond the gate torch lights fired and orcs howled their battle cries; with the legionary archers all preparing to repel again, however most were shocked as the grumble of the less seen orc heavy cavalry was met with the sound of the gate bolts below them being removed.

Without their departed legate the legionnaires could only listen to their multitude of sergeants and two tribunes who argued this way and that to send all of them down; while the other said to hold the walls. Finally the first ordered the closet flank of legions to him to dismount the walls and rush the gates.

Their however they found Reynald holding the entrance to the gate with some ten of his companions while the others pulled it free, so that with some hesitation the tribune ordered his men forward and they clashed with the dragonborn and his guard.

None though could breach the loose shield wall of the companions nor Reynald and Aranea who pushed them back with obstruction spells; along with those who used their shields to ward of the swords and axes of the tribune and his desperate lot. That being the desperate situation the oncoming approach of the orc mounted warriors could be heard through the thunder of hooves and howling warriors.

"Get your men away now legionnaire the gate is lost, I will restrain my orcs for your escape" Reynald shouted over the din of the small battle; as a strong legionnaire hacked away at his prominent shield with a short axe, there nearby the tribune who had managed to knock away another companions shield could see the heavy orcs closing fast; the gate was now indefensible.

The tribune who was a ten year veteran and High Rock native could see the futility of his position and took the leave Reynald offered; screaming at those above to abandon their ramparts and then turning off to open the way for escape.

It took several moments for the remaining legionnaires to realise the futility and finally turn and rush off the ramparts towards their screaming; panicked tribune, at the same time the dragonborn with his companions did not pursue but rather avoided the gateway where the orc vanguard would soon approach through.

Then they finally came through in numbers of some fifty or sixty triple armoured orc soldiers; with all of them holding huge halberds; warhammers and even more brutal edged spike and magically charged weapons. All of their armour was either ebony or the metal natural to the orc homeland; while their horses were also similarly fearsome looking as they were all dark manes and covered in similarly coloured plate metals.

At their apparent head was a warrior who wore no helmet; which allowed Reynald to look upon the elaborate war braids which hung down over his grizzled; worn face, which in itself was shaded white in elaborate war paint and entirely scarred to make a horrific visage.

"Where are the legionnaires for us to slaughter" the orc bellowed in an uneven tongue; which told Reynald that this particular orc was unfamiliar to the standard language used across Tamriel.

"I have allowed them to retreat to their main fortification and have so spared their lives, you are not to pursue" Reynald replied with a firm but measured tone, the orc commander snorted in response.

"Ah yes the king told me; the plan to have all the legions throw down their weapons and surrender" the orc rasped to Reynald with a half sneer on his face; as if goading the dragonborn.

In response he first held up a warning hand to keep those behind him from acting upon the insult; and then marched forward himself and pulling free the blade at his side saying "Your king owes me his oath; and by that estimation as do you, now say another word and I'll have Shura himself have you beheaded at the forefront of the camp"; this said with a growl was enforced by Reynald's steely gaze daring the orc to refute this, instead he nodded in a semblance of respect and set his horse off to march.

Then there was nothing but some few hundred armoured orcs rushing through only to find disapointment and a lack of battle; but with that disatisfied lot came news that filtered through with scouts that the main legion had retreated, in the face of a flanking movement that seemed to reach the very summit of their power in the wrothgarians.

Therefore Reynald with his own host had taken the only real obstacle that kept them from their orc allies; as well as the orcs filling out to envelop the passes west of the wrothgarians. This in effect cut off the legionnaires there in the wrothgarians from anything in way of logistical support or reinforcements; leaving them to either request aid from Shornhelm or face a brutal battle agaisnt the orcs.

Reynald while holding the kingdoms of Farrun and Jehanna; and the associated passes to Orsinium could believe Calvius would never willingly beg Shornhelm for neither supplies; nor their men at arms. Naturally his thoughts turned towards furthering his advance by settling those legions within the wrothgarians, perhaps even by allying with Shornhelm for their mutual gain.

However before any plan could be hatched; news from Skyrim and Ulfric was heard.

It was in the form of a trio of riders bearing long cloaks and stormcloak cuirasses under which the lead rider held a missive from the now high king Ulfric directly from his position of garrison outside Solitude. All three where called forward by Reynald as he held a counsel within a newly formed orc maintained camp at the walls of the small settlement Vermeir.

Now in a loose cloak; simple woven clothes and chainmail the dragonborn at the head of a assembly of the great orc king Shura and two ancient generals; Detritus and his two fellow commander Ulrich and Kastus along with the circle of the companions including Aela; Farkas and Vilkas received these men.

Aranea announced the men at the foot of the camp before taking her place at the flank of Reynald; ever present as always.

"What news do you bring me Leif" Reynald asked to the man he knew best; a short nord who was made bulkier by his small stature, who in response took a piece of parchment from his belt.

Having been for a small time a scholar and through the legion read and learned; it took Reynald only a moment to read through the many lines of the letter, when he had he could not help himself from starting up and shouting incredulously.

"What news" Aela asked between the pair of the two brothers Vilkas and Farkas; seated at the right side of the small command throne, Reynald's reply was pure disbelief.

"Ulfric sends from his own hand that Dawnstar has been completely overrun by vampires; and that the entire city guard and population have either been turned to thralls; vampires or slaughtered. Further still Windhelm has been taken by some force of elves; redguard and mismatched vampire hunters. While the legion from two different angles of approach has pressed on Skyrim's borders and struck success agaisnt Falkreath and Riften."

This news of course was to all assembled a shock; and not one of them was able to fathom any sort of response, rather it came to Reynald visibly shaking himself free from his stupor to question the men assembled in front of him.

All three were readily forthcoming with what they knew of the situation; including the news that Dawnstar had went completely dark to the stormcloaks. With the resulting search easily found the mutilated corpses of the veteran Jarl and whatever citizens that had refused the vampires.

They knew less of the circumstances of Windhelm; only that it had to do with some situation that was being kept mooted by the stormcloak leaders. But the imperials where of course known to all; as proclamations had flooded in through the passes leading to Skyrim as Tullius had completed his feint through the pass leading from Cheydinhal to Riften, assisted by legion allied irregulars from the dunmer homeland.

The dragonborn posed every question he could think towards the men before then allowing them to rest as night fell; however it was not all to be known that day as from beyond the shadow of wrothgarians a single rider came and demanded entrance to the camp.

Still holding those in assembly Reynald received this late newcomer who on admittance was revealed to be his long absent advisor Sybille Stentor, a well known advisor and mage to many courts who was believed to know much of the school of restoration; which accounted for her extremely youthful appearance.

Reynald and his battlemage Aranea; along with the companions knew different of course but said nothing, for she was beyond clever and equally skilled in matters relating to Reynald's interests.

She reported without a delay "Recently as you have been successfully dealing with Wayrest and Orsinium; I felt as per our agreement I would take myself to the court of Shornhelm and see how your interests stood there, I have little good news to bear".

Due to her hard ride the brunette's hair was tussled and her skin was flushed, yet she said without a hitch "The king Attrebus has long since ejected any imperial dignitary from his court; and furthermore contests many smaller kingdoms belong to his banner rather than Daggerfall's, I believe he is about to commit to open rebellion in view of the general state of peril the empire appears to be in".

Then she gravelly told him "However his advisors have convinced him to march on those lands just west of Skyrim; previously taken by yourself before attempting to dislodge Wayrest from any claim, whether he will attempt to move in unison with the imperial force in the wrothgarians is a mystery. He is agaisnt allying himsef with you due to your claim as dragonborn, and will certainly contest with you".

At that moment it became too much for the dragonborn to bear and in a fury shot up and drove his nearby sword into the table before him; cutting through the map and associated articles there, it was of course apparent to all that the gains made by the hero's host to be for naught by this news.

Furthermore there was no help to be seen from Skyrim which if anything appeared to be falling back into imperial control, Reynald was openly disgusted.

The unfazed Sybille though came forward then and offered a calming hand to Reynald shoulder however; boldly saying to him "I know a plan which will make Shornhelm think no more of making plans against you; but rather come offering terms for peace, you have but to make use of lengthy tongue".

Suprised the dragonborn could only temper his anger and with that he took a seat again to hear what she had to say, where he could only shake his head in astonishment when she gave her critical plan.


	13. The Return

**_ReBirth-Syndrome: _**Good to hear your enjoying it, and i've really upped the grammer this time around, truthfully i wouldn't mind rewriting the story from the start again, but alas i could not be bothered i'm afraid, anyway let me know what you think.

**_HowAboutThisForAName:_**Thanks very much, it's good to get some positive feedback, i'll be taking things in a hopefully what seems like more detailed approach, as well as giving inflections as to what certain characters think by way of pov, i hope you can come around to the slight change, thanks again though.

_**Legate Salemar:**_I've actually made ways into doing the DLC, as i believe it's important to show Reynald's qualities as a influencing factor in the overall storyline and worldview, i.e. rather than the traditional view we'll see how he truly affected Skyrim, i also want to use a return as a board to show just excatly how conflicted Reynald and as an extension his cause is, it's not a simple case of 'one side one army', he's fighting agaisnt fellow imperials and the empire he loves, rather than the elves he really wnats to bite into if you follow me. I do apologise also about the delay but i've only recently got my internet back on the spin due to a continent move, bit of a nightmare all in really. As for him jumping through hoops yeah well you can't really argue with that can you ? though i won't have him doing ridculous side quests i do want to show just how reliant the overall uprooting of the thalmor backed mede dynasty is assisted by the dragonborn, rather than him simply just being a mobile battering ram for a few forts and garrisons. Dawnguard provides that as we'll see just how Ulfric is dealing with being a leader of a multinational nation, rather than the secular nation of nords he'd wish Skyrim to be.

* * *

><p>"Did you lose your sense on the ride here <em>wizard<em>, you'd have to be to suggest this nonsense" Farkas growled, at the slight breton mage standing at the centre of the gloomy; candlelit pavilion, the brawny nord backed in his sentiment by most of those assembled within the room, including all of the major supporters and captains of his army. It was where Reynald recently had started to take his counsel, a pavilion wide enough to fit the twelve comfortably, with a now ruined five foot table with all sorts of wines; ales and foodstuffs doted across it, as well as the high backed simple but sturdy oaken chairs. Candles also were placed in each corner and behind every third man or woman to provide adequate; if not underwealming lighting in what was now an oncoming night.

Reynald; seated at the head of the twelve person assembly in simple tanned linens and a rough spun cloak expected the words to come before they had, Farkas was not one for glib speakers or scheming, and If Reynald had his way he too would not listen to another word tonight. He was wearied by a long day of matters ranging from grand to trivial, yet all the same it took up his time to the point of madness, he had little in the way of sunlight or food; and he sometimes began to wonder if he ran this army; or did it run him.

Reynald took the matter now however, as he saw though that unlike the prior bickering between the nords; orcs and bretons, for the right of vanguard or spoils; most of his gathering was united in scoffing at the notion presented by his recently arrived advisor.

Those others within the main tent that agreed with the sentiment included the orc king Shura Dul gro-Yargus, sitting in boiled leathers under dark coated steel mail that usually offered secondary protection under his orichalcum plate armour, the third tier of the triple layered protection the orc heavy bands were famous for. The orcs brutal face; already affected by a grim expression, over pronounced jaw and severe nightshade glyph's had a ruptured eye socket to add yet another scar to the century fellowship.

"My horse fell over an imperial pike near the trenches of my city" he told Reynald when asked on the wound, a dull impact that looked to have swelled up his eye immeasurably.

"Didn't you have a healer look it over?" Ulrich asked with a nicety; sitting in the trio of Breton commanders on the opposing side, as always the breton was tall and fair looking with a trim; spirited appearance, he wore like always in counsel rich clothes including a gold slashed burgundy doublet, with matching breeches, supple knee high leather boots along with a silver trimmed short sword in a lightly jewelled scabbard.

"Only weaklings have their scars healed, the mutilation reminds me of my failure" Shura had growled to the Breton; not liking the pander of him one ounce.

Ulrich returned a curt smile and mildly returned to his own lot then after that exchange, but the king had went along to point out that he thought Sybille's idea "_Foolish"_, labelling king Attrebus of Shornhelm "_a viper in fine clothing",_ and then giving Ulrich another soul scouring look. His two lieutenants with him were of an unknown quality to Reynald, and said nothing save to murmur assent when Shura wished it. Everyone had noted quickly that they merely came as little more than standard bearers for Shura, as both stood behind their king in full triple armour, unadorned and funtional as it was. One held the mighty warhammer _Volendrung_ in his oft hand, the weapon having been used by Reynald to prove his worth to Malacath; and with that proving to the orc king and his nation the strength of the dragonborn.

The weapon was a huge hammer of ancient construct; by the long since vanished dwemer, but unlike there other bronzen forgings this famed weapon was of a deep ebony metal, perhaps owing to Malacath's capture and corruption of the weapon, it held a murky green glow from it's apex to it's staff; and a blood red crystal was at the core of it's mighty spiked head.

Furthermore those who agreed included Detritus; the breton commander who had played the role of dragonborn during the battle of the crossing, he sat beside his two breton fellows in the place below Shura; looking the most handsome and fearsome of the three with his dark; lean face and wild brown locks. His clothing was as impressive, he wore a polished silver breastplate patterned with gold glazed axes; sabres and hammers as well as regal animals and all manner of things thought noble, while under he wore fine but practical linens that were all crimson and sable; along with a cloak in the same colours that was draped over his wide shoulders down to his high leather boots, whilst always his elvin sabre was at his hip in a dark leather scabbard.

"So we men who fought and bled to gain victory are advised to hand over Farrun; in some poor attempt to curry favour with Wayrest and its queen?", Detritus asked with thinly disguised distaste on his otherwise dashing face, "why should we fear Shornhelm; why not meet them in the field and smash like as we smashed Wayrest!"

_Why not smash every king and lord from here to Tulune indeed_? Wondered Reynald in his false humour as his nords and the orc king shared the sentiment loudly, none of them seeming to recognise the gravity of the situation he faced.

Only his fair faced advisor Sybille could truly seem to comprehend the danger the events in Skyrim represented, though he suspected Kastus who sat looking very ordinary and stoic had an idea; clever as he was, the rest were simply thinking like absent minded soldiers, it was infuriating.

Reynald idly played with the locks of his own wild auburn hair as he often did when restless; listening to this commander and that agree with Detritus; or Farkas depending upon who riled the others the loudest, they would have to be made to understand.

He raised a hand to call for some semblance of order; and with that his assembled confidants quieted down, that done he spoke himself about what Sybille proposed; more reflective and calm whereas just a few long moments before he had drove a sword through his now tarnished table.

"While we are flush from victory and indeed have the rule of the western plains and greater High Rock, we now have to deal with Shornhelm and all her combined lords and armies. Together with the legion we could face an enemy well beyond ourselves coming down from the passes; holding the high ground and striking at our rear, I need realistic ideas gentlemen; no sabre rattling", still calm but with a hint of firmness; Reynald waited to see what his men offered, Farkas was the first to disappoint.

"Shornhelm faces us towards Farrun; and through the eastern passes of the wrothgarians, post men across the passages and hill forts; burn away the foliage and none of their pretty lords could bear a hard winter." Was his suggestion, Reynald shook his head sadly.

"You consider that Shornhelm would do the fighting themselves; when in reality they would provide the fodder and foodstuffs and all manner of supplies towards the legion, they'll wait until the new year until committing; while we've sapped all our strength"

"Why not garrison Farrun and allow Shornhelm to siege the city; while sending another force to garrison the flank, no commander would dare allow themselves to be encircled" Ulrich suggested easily; but Reynald shook his head all in the same.

"If they send a strong force to choke Farrun's road; while another checks the relief it would be as if none could stop them, while they could receive direct aid through the passes; Farrun would be dependent on cities under my control that are already spent empty." Shura spoke up then; full of brashness and vigour in his permanent growl of a tone.

"My best men can ride through the hellfire's of oblivion if needed; yet they could still force their way up the steepest slopes without any archer or pike men troubling their way, why not let my heavy orcs take the fight to Shornhelm to teach them to respect us", Reynald shook his head for the third time; resigned to ill luck.

"If Attrebus is half the soldier his father was then he would certainly screen any attack with skirmishers, your heavy orcs smash them, you reach their outer settlements, then what?", Reynald held up a hand to stifle a response "Then If he has sense he'll bog down the roads, torch whatever sparse vegetation found in their eastern places, soon you'll have to waste away torching this fortification and that one, until finally the imperials march down from their own place; fed by Shornhelm and ready to counter us on every front"

Their arguments put forward; all the men and mer eager for a fight assembled looked displeased at Reynald's reluctance, Detritus was the only one rash enough not to let the matter drop.

"We have fought and won against them before; why not settle the manner as they come down their mountain. We can build ramparts and trenches against the eastern mountainside; send a company to fire the passes and hillsides towards Farrun. Finally we send our main strength towards the lower Riverlands; steal the crops and establish forts, then seven hills can be laid and trapped and we'll have the wrothgarians in our grip"

Reynald shook his head again; half hoping it would dispel the headache now conjuring within his weary head, this man was his best captain in the manner of arms and soldiering; and he could perhaps match his nords in a square fight with that elvin broadsword of his, but he was rash and too eager for battle to be much use beyond.

He focused his attention instead on the still at attention Sybille and asked of her plan again "You say that by giving Farrun to Wayrest; we can obstruct Shornhelm's attack, how so?" to which Sybille replied easily "Wayrest is weaker than Shornhelm; and the loss of their northern reaches has dealt them a hammer blow, yet still Wayrest controls nearly all roads and trade towards Cyrodiil; while all the cities of Shornhelm are dependent in some way on the trade from Skyrim by sea".

_The sinews of war are septims, septems and yet more septims _was a maxim Reynald was familiar with, Sybille continued still "If Shornhelm believes Wayrest are with us then they will hesitate to attack us, as Attrebus for all his ambition is still tempered by the harsh lesson his forefathers were taught; during their rebellion at the onset of the great war. Give Wayrest to Farrun; and I will make sure that Shornhelm believe all of Skyrim; the reaches men and Wayrest are all aligned for you, who is to say that Hammerfell does not prepare to raise their swords for you"?

Reynald couldn't help but agree with the suggestion; Farkas huffed with the rest of those in favour of a quick battle, Kastus who sat at the foot of the room; silent and thoughtful as always asked "What Sybille says is of little effort to us, and Farrun for all its obstinacy is not easily held; if someone holds the throat of the cities approaches to starve it, why not offer the city as is advised while placing some trusty braves inside to ward off danger?", Detritus who now sat at the apex of the breton group shot his fellow a glare; but all of them were focused upon Reynald and what he would say.

He gave it no longer than a moment to make his decision; saying in his 'brook no disagreement' tone "the alternative to Sybille's clever plan is a straight war with not only the legion; but Shornhelm and all her strength, something I would not want; yet I felt could be accomplished if Ulfric had leave to send me the aid he provided. Now we hear that Skyrim is again in peril, unable to send a single sword to us, how can we hope to defeat the whole force of the legions here in High Rock; Shornhelm and her many sworn lords?" _Why would i want to either? How many more legionnaires need to die by my order _was something he did not say, yet it was what concerned him the most, none of these men held any loyalty to the empire as he did; rather they all held loyalty to him or the rewards he offered.

Reynald raised a hand gloved in rough spun furs to halt a response; answering his own question he told them "We cannot, and in the trying we'll exhaust whatever strength we have fighting men; where we should be fighting elves. Rather than that we will instead as you say build the ramparts and trenches and enclose the legion; south west and east of the wrothgarians; and let them dare to break out. The towns of Alcaire; Koegria and Menevia regions have always been fortified to deal with any orc rebellion, now they will be given the chance to either allow us to garrison them or fall before a siege"

Reynald asked the orc king then the opportunity to build the entrapments towards the wrothgarians, he ordered Kastus and Farkas; working as a joint command to bring the outlying settlements to heel. He told Detritus and Ulrich to concern himself with maintaining the central host; which meant punishing offences; building stockades and shelter for the prisoners and provisions, but he did not say that the breton recently made first among them had the general command.

_A commander must learn to follow before he can lead. _Something Reynald had to grudgingly learn in his time as a legionnaire; and something his man Detritus would soon have to learn also. He gave his commanders leave to see to their business and noted the two bretons; Detritus and Ulrich grumbled together as they left. Kastus and Farkas he knew could be relied upon to follow his orders when needed, but Ulrich and Detritus could perhaps be too ambitious; or foolish enough to attempt to try and subvert an order, he needed them kept close and to heel.

Then Aela with her two fellow companions went to leave Reynald but ushered her back alone; which left king Shura; his two stone faced bodyguards and Sybille.

The tent flap fell loose and Sybille relaxed; she took a chair that Farkas had vacated while Aela sat neutrally between the orcs and the advisor, "What's this about?" Aela impatiently asked; sitting uncomfortably in the leathers she had been wearing for much of the day.

Reynald knew how she felt sitting in his own sweat damp clothes; resisting the urge to pull off his high leather boots and scour his feet, "There's a vampire outbreak in Skyrim, large enough to have supposedly wiped out Dawnstar, that's reason enough to have a few words about what I should do"

Aela snorted; giving him a withering look, "Skyrim's problems are Ulfric's business now; why should you turn back when your enemy sits reeling?", the orc king agreed "Any king who cannot defend his own lands is no true king", and even Sybille gave no endorsement to the idea.

"I cannot abandon the people of Skyrim; even if their king is a bloody fool, I endured more battles and bloodbaths' alike to save them, how can I now turn away?"

Aela who was by her nature abrupt and straightforward; measured her tone in telling Reynald "You have done all that you could; and saved all of Tamriel; not least Skyrim, but to turn your force and march to the rescue is unthinkable", Sybille spoke in agreement "Your breton companies are from this place, they have no interest in Skyrim, turn away now and you will endure their scorn for your lifetime. Hero or not you will be known as an oath breaker, and all of your breton commanders and their men will likely join with Wayrest; or Shornhelm just to save their necks from the block"

Despite his insistence; despite his fibre of being pushing for him to honour his commitment to Skyrim; he knew he could not truly turn from his course now. _The dye is cast _he reflected grimly, "If I do nothing and Skyrim comes under imperial control again, I'll be helmed between two enemies, I must do something"

Neither Sybille; nor Aela or the orc king could decide of what aid he could offer, a troop of men seemed the likely choice; yet their orcs and were surely loath to leave the defence of their home, the bretons would have no desire to face a vampiric uprising in a faraway land, while the nords where themselves most likely outcast in some ways.

They choose to follow Reynald rather than Ulfric after all, a slight neither the king nor his close men would forget so easily.

Reynald was about to retire finally for the night; when an idea struck him as he went to rise, "Tell me Sybille, do you know of any wizards who would have access to Welkynd stones; or any sure amounts of magical force?", the request made the regularly unfazed wizard crook her brow in confusion, before she realised his intent half a moment later.

"Travelling as a wizard would?" Sybille asked with a nod of approval, king Shura and Aela shared a look of confusion, Sybille meanwhile didn't bother to clue them in, "Nearby there was a witches coven; on the edge of Menevia as the boundaries lay, they were renowned for their savagery powerful in the arcane arts. Though I have not heard of them in an age however; and I do not know what became of them or their coven"

"You believe they are the only place that would have such things?" Reynald asked; Sybille gave him a resolute nod, leaving for him some thought on how exactly to go around locating a coven if even if still existed, then however king Shura spoke up abruptly, "I know those you speak off; witches of some old legends, they were called the Tamarilyn coven. When our kingdom last burned these witches took in some of our young and helpless, those that had managed to flee through the caverns of wrothgaria. Rather than help them however, the witches used them as slaves and thralls; and nearly all of them perished within the walls of the coven. "

"Nearly all?" Aela first said; to which Shura nodded gravely and continued "One of the young escaped; and was found by a remnant of my father's own brood, he could not suffer this insult to our people. We were all but ruined then however; and to his everlasting shame he could not bring a mailed hand down upon them, such a shame stayed me from ascension for many years"

It was an interesting tale no doubt; and Reynald was loathe to skip over the history of how the king of the orcs overcame the stigma of his father to rule, but he was weary and needed to stretch his legs; so he interrupted "You must have had to deal with the coven then, what became of them; their wizards or what they held?"

"They did not have wizards; but rather warlocks and conjurers" Shura told him; a glint in his eye and what could have passed for a smile on his gruesome face, "All of them save one were slaughtered, by my own hand, their customs decreed seven dancing beauties; stolen from lands far and near to appease their gods and spirits. I came in the dead of night and as they danced; I struck at them under the blessing of Malacath, I showed their last surviving elder; Ellyst, the bodies of the dancers and their young. She fled as I set the fires that engulfed their coven; her and some few of their young that I had left to remember, they fled under a mountain pass east; I do not know where they now hide"

The tale struck a chord with Reynald; and for a moment he had to swallow hard not to show any sign of disgust on his face, he remain tempered however and after a moment he asked "Did you find any items of particular magical potency, stones a brilliant shade of blue; like a vial?"

"We found nothing worth taking once my warriors sifted through the wreckage, when finding the bodies for a sign", _What would be the point without ahead of a pike _Reynald thought, yet he asked ,"Perhaps this Ellyst took something with her; warlocks and wizards alike value items of magical potency above all possessions?", Shura nodded in agreement.

"Ellyst was the most cautious of all the witches; and she knew what would eventually happen given time, wherever she went; she would have taken their treasures with them", _To where? _Was the answer he needed; and again Sybille proved helpful.

She told them "Witches like any people find comfort when tried; in that of their own sort, if the witches went east then they could have taken up with the witches of the wroth, another powerful coven that settled themselves in the marshes some ways east of Deerville town", but Aela was unsure "Witches align themselves only to their own power; and would not simply infest another witches place is attacked, it would be more likely that they moved into the reach to start anew"

Aela's logic was sound; for Reynald had spent enough days and nights fighting across the reach to know it was infested with witches and hags, and all of them had in some way used other peoples to their own sadistic benefit. Forsworn; raiders and mercenaries alike all over the reach had welcoming arms for spell powerful witches.

"Perhaps either is true; or both are false, regardless I doubt that any of the local wizards would have such things in their possession, we need to try and find this Ellyst; and determine if these witches of wroth themselves have such things", Reynald looked to them now for suggestions, Aela and Sybille both had ideas.

"You have men who hail from the reach; bandits and the local soldiery alike, why not gauge them for any prior news of new covens or witches" Aela proposed; while Sybille advised "These covens are finding themselves under threat; and their ways have become even more loathsome in times past, engage them and offer protection in trade for what you desire"

"And if they refuse?"; Sybille gave him a knowing look, "If they do; then there's the sword"

That was all that could be done then, king Shura having had enough took his leave; his bodyguards trailing behind him with his mighty hammer on display, Aela set off to leave herself but Reynald called to her again.

She was less than happy at that, "Shor be good; what is it now!" she cursed and sat back down, Sybille who herself had ridden hard to get here showed no ill effects.

That was; part of the reason why she remained while his other fellows had been dismissed, she was his most knowledgeable follower on vampires after all.

"If I am about to ride into a hold full of vampires; I'd like to know what I can expect" He explained to them, but Aela didn't relent in her anger, "They like blood and they don't like the sun, fill them with arrows or put a sword through their gullets; they'll go down like any other man"

Sybille was not as dismissive however, part of her charm Reynald thought, "That's fair for those newly blooded; and those who have not yet fully matured their abilities, but for a whole city of some thousands to be eradicated, there is something more here", Reynald could only agree on that.

He had enough experience of vampires to know how dangerous they were; his first experience being the second year of his life in the legion. He had been in training south of Cyrodiil; when a local sect of the creatures had set upon his squad during an exploration of some holdouts, his squad lost half their men to both death and disease in the skirmish; a testament not only to the ferocity and speed granted by becoming undead but also how they could force their terrible condition upon others.

He had been lucky enough only to have suffered his lower lip sliced open in a way that nearly removed it from his face, before the remnant of his squad saved him from the lone creature that had cornered him. Since then he had in his efforts as a companion cut down at least a dozen fully matured vampires in their attempt to eradicate the silver bloods, but the underlying caution from that first meeting never left him.

Dawnstar had guards that numbered in the hundreds, and nords as they were they were; they could be expected to guard their homes and families to the death, for such a place to fall…it was unthinkable.

"What sort of vampire could command enough strength to overcome all of Dawnstar" he wondered aloud, "A master vampire perhaps, I have seen the sort before with many thralls and lesser vampires" Aela suggested; perhaps not willing to give her natural enemies their due.

Sybille shook her head, "No master vampire could amass the power to do such a thing, nor do vampires think in the usual way of land and holdings, it is not within the power of any vampire I know to have gained a following strong enough to attack a city", Reynald shared the irritated look Aela shot the wizard.

"What else could it be then?"; Sybille paused as if in deep thought for a moment, that was enough to make Reynald pause; as he knew she was always quick and full of wit; never one to have a second thought. She told them after a long moment; and in a cautious tone "I had heard some tales that Movarth Piquine had been known around Skyrim, a vampire more than a century old. He was in his time one of the most skilled vampire hunters; and dozens of sects fell under his blade, but he too fell in time to another powerful vampire and became a terror of the ages, perhaps he is the lynchpin of this attack; yet I feel that even he would hesitate to act so brazenly"

"Perhaps an alliance of sorts then" Reynald asked in confusion; and Sybille lessened the gravity of her tone ,"Like the dragons; and the gods; and men and mer alike, vampires have existed in some form or another since time itself, no one can truly know the oldest or strongest of them. So you must understand that this attack; whatever the cause of it, is the most serious of its sort I have ever heard of".

"Yet I'll have to walk into it blind it seems" Reynald tiredly replied, rising from his chair finally to stretch out his limbs, Sybille and Aela to her great relief rose themselves glad to be done for the night.

Aela couldn't help but ask what of these magical stones; covens and vampires however; tired as she was, in all things she liked to be at his side.

Reynald told them in no uncertain terms just what he planned, "My army has to remain here; or else my rebellions finished, but that doesn't mean I'll simply stand by and let Skyrim burn, I'll go myself and settle this problem like I settled the dragons". Aela was annoyed; if not surprised by his stubborn desire to be the hero, "Your place is here; and it's hundreds of leagues between here and Dawnstar, if you are needed here you'll be too far away".

Reynald shook his head and gave her the smile that always seemed to her smug, "These stones I've been harping on about can allow someone with the magical skill; but not the raw power to travel over vast distances in the blink of an eye, and I'd rather get one before I leave. Rather than wait until I reach Skyrim and barter with the college, they rarely trade in septims for items of any great potency; and I haven't the time to carry out some ridiculous quest".

Aela was still unmoved and again voiced her displeasure, "If you leave who can you rely on to lead in your absence, your men Ulrich and Kastus are a pair of callow dogs, that other fellow Detritus imitates a good nord at best; a power grubbing breton pony at worst. The king of the orcs is just that; a king of the people everyone from Hammerfell to High Rock has tried to erase from Tamriel"

He gave her that at least and stayed away from the orcs and bretons completely, instead he had others ideas of who could manage in his stead, "I know all about my men; more so than you think, Detritus is bold and tenacious; but he loathes those beneath him and values power over any other thing. Kastus is clever and willing; but he is prone to talk over action; and too easily cowed. Ulrich is brave when it is easy to be so; prone to jealously and flirtations with the wrong side of danger", Aela accepted what he said but still looiked sour; while Sybille smiled lightly.

"Then why trust them" Aela asked, "A wise man once told me that it is one thing to recognise a person's vices and virtues, and quite another to make use of them, I use all my men wisely"

"Yet that doesn't answer who is to lead" Aela told him; and Reynald grinned involuntarily at her fire, "Since you have so said that all those I have found here are worthless, I will leave someone in charge who came with me from Skyrim", Aela again was confused.

"Who; the elf wizard?" she asked hotly, Reynald shook his head.

"Your friend here; who knows a suspicious amount about leches?" Sybille stared but said nothing, Reynald shook again.

"Me?" Another shake.

"Farkas; Vilkas?" Reynald smiled, "your half right"

Aela just about gaped, "you can't be serious", but Reynald did not smile this time "I think we both know for obvious reasons; I mean to leave Vilkas rather than Farkas, bold as he is our dear brother is but a hammer with a man attached", Aela did not share in his jest but shook her head numbly.

"Vilkas is brave; smart; and he has a bigger heart than anyone I know, but he is no commander of armies", Often Aela spoke in harsh tones and rudely more often than not, but she spoke without a hint of either as she told Reynald what she saw as a sad fact.

"Your wrong" he told her without a shadow of a doubt; and a ghost of a smile, Aela offered her hands up in peace; she was beyond too tired to argue.

"Your army; your decision, I'm too tired to even think let alone fight you any longer", Aela turned and made for the tent flap; leaving without Reynald daring to stop her.

Sybille remained for a moment longer; and with Aela gone told Reynald freely "She'll be good to have when you reach Skyrim, her _sort _is notorious for hunting down vampires, she'll relish the challenge I'm sure", Reynald knew that much at least and while he wasn't sure how much Sybille and Aela knew of each other; he had no doubt now.

"Aela's the best tracker I've ever seen; not to mention an expert hunter, she'll be coming with me to Skyrim but she'll be one of the few, I can't even let it be known that I have left the camp". Sybille approved of that, always catching to his ideas before anyone else, "When will you leave then?" she asked.

"As soon as these covens are found; and the matters dealt with, if nothings found then I'll need to find a stone in Skyrim. Regardless it'll be in the next few days; your free to either conduct the search yourself; or make for Shornhelm and leave it for another", Reynald motioned for the exit and Sybille followed him out, into the fire lit camp around them that was both cloistered around them; yet stretched for some ways in every direction.

Reynald's personal tent was only some lengths away, a pavilion with a guard on either side of the erected entrance, spears and shields in the hands of the two iron plated nords that stood guard, "What is it you'll do then, Shornhelm or the coven?", Sybille he guessed would like to negotiate with the witches herself, perhaps to see what other trinkets and rare pieces she could gather up, "I'll see to Shornhelm; and with your leave I'll prepare dispatches for Wayrest about receiving Farrun. The search for the witches can be left to anyone with a keen nose and a sharp sword".

That was enough for Reynald and he parted with her then, taking the quickest route to his own tent he shied away from the garrisons and arsenals erected around his central encampment. Not many soldiers roamed his own camp; instead guards two by two patrolled around with spears and lanterns in hand, the backdrop of the sky was a dark and clear night; which reminded Reynald of so many nights travelling across Skyrim in this hunt or that.

"Dragonborn" both guards solemnly greeted as he reached the tent flap; saluting with their shields in a way that reminded him of how the greybeards greeted him, once he was known as that legendary old title. He gave them a simple nod and got inside of his tent, modestly spaced and for the most part bare, with the only real items of interest an armour mannequin that held his dragon armour, mud and ash covered the scaled plates and flames had bit at the skin to give it a slightly worn appearance; though he reflected it would not see use for a time. Apart from that his tent contained only a small cot; feathered with warm fur coverlet, an old wooden table messily stacked with books and papers; with thick half burned candles to light the room, along with a single chair and an old worn wooden trunk that held whatever small personal belonging; including underclothes that he needed after rising.

He didn't bother with the table nor the trunk, but instead he got out of his mail and furs; tossing them onto the drab oilcloth that served as his flooring. His head felt the pillow beneath it and soon his world ended for the night.

Life as a divine champion was not as easy as that of a regular mortal however, and the night passed with Reynald dreaming of horrors. Blood was in his mouth; hot and sickly to the taste, and he saw burning fields of bones and a rabid people devouring each other with their bare hands and teeth. He was there in the red mists and bloodied fields; but could neither pull his sword nor shout; helpless. Then from above the mount above he saw a dragon swoop down, its jaws fierce as ever; but he could not move. The dragon tore through his body piercing his side through his arm and leg, all the way to his chest; tossing him like a squalid lamb across the field; and he landed in a pile of bodies with his whole person screaming in pain.

The dragon's teeth had torn his armour to pieces; and now Reynald could understand where the blood in his mouth came from, he could only let the blood gush out and slowly he faded; until then he could make out; from his place at the bottom of the mount, a terrifying creature of hoary skin; razor like teeth and fangs that pointed like needles on a visage of horror and cruelty, large scaled wings sprouted from the creatures back and the drowning sun was soon bathed by the darkness falling across the sky.

* * *

><p>Morning time in the lands of the wrothgarians was similar to the lands of Skyrim, if someone was thinking about the low lying fields of Whiterun's hold; or the Rift or the Reach for that matter, Vilkas had been told that by one of the breton mercenaries that had taken to his own campfires since they had encamped beneath the shadow of the wrothgarians.<p>

He was inclined to believe it; as sunup in the now sprawling encampment was cold, but no more than the many mornings when he taken to walking the walls of Whiterun; or cleaving through practise opponents in the training yard of the Jorrvaskr.

Like then as now he found himself irritable and uninterested, and while he didn't relish the hunt like Aela or the clash of battle like Farkas; he did like to get away from his thoughts. The camp provided nothing like that thanks to orders from the companion's harbinger, who had let Farkas and Aela off to scout and fight; while Vilkas sat night and day clattering whatever he could find as a useable mock opponent.

Now he was sent for after spending the first days of morning star miserable and avoidable, he wore casual breeches and a worn tunic covered over by equally dated iron mail; as well as an iron sword at his belt sheathed in a plain brown leather scabbard, his hair was knotted and wild down to his shoulders while his face was covered in a mess of dark; unruly fuss, over his shoulders he wore a fur lined tan cloak that reached his shin high leather boots; which was the only well-kept piece of his dress.

He approached the inner camp that was now fortified with staked wooden walls a good fifteen spans high; with guards that covered every blind spot of the interior as well as the main heavily laid old oaken gates. Farkas and Vilkas had arrived to spot quickly within the nord contingent of the camps; rather than inside Reynald's own place, it meant that he saw very little of him now; not that he could draw the always involved leader away from all the different things that took his attention.

Vilkas gave a short greeting to the few men at the gates that he knew, all of them nords which was made apparent of their immediate salutes to him; despite their names and stories not having been known to him. A companion was a warrior of old legend to all of Skyrim he knew, yet still it felt wrong for him to be respected on the base of other great men's deeds.

They opened up the gates without a question, Vilkas passed and went for the counsel tent; situated at the very end of the encampment, around it to the left was a garrison made for the guards; an arsenal further down from that, while too it's far right was Reynald's own smaller pavilion, all of the buildings where thick wooden constructs made for funtionality, save for Reynald's own thinly walled pavilion.

Unlike the larger camp outside that was boisterous even in the early morning, Reynald's personal own was near deserted; with only a few guards walking about in long fur cloaks and sheathed swords; signalling them as the nights watch waiting for relief. It made a great difference from that of the greater camp surrounding it, where hundreds of bretons and nords; orcs even in some numbers went about, they included blacksmiths hammering away at shields; pieces of plate and weapons of every type, fletchers sawing up wood for arrows, cooks preparing meals over giant cooking pots, and larger masses of men drilling with swords; spears and axes, shields in their oft hand more often than not.

The arrays of the two camps where different also, as flags and emblems dotted the greater camp of houses belonging to those that had followed Reynald across the border; or those that had joined when he called for his upheaval towards the Mede family, while inside Reynald's own camp not one banner or icon could be seen. The numbers of the camps where different also, only a few dozen men went to and fro here, while on the exterior there were hundreds of people milling about daily.

It reflected for Vilkas the nature of the dragonborn; who was by his own appearance and that of his holdings nothing like the predictable breton, it was seen in those captains of Reynald's gathered from High Rock who were all extravagance and pomp, while Reynald was instead stark and unadorned save for when it served some purpose.

Vilkas thought he looked very much like Reynald had when he first entered the Jorrvaskr; on what was Vilkas territory like this tent was now Reynald's. In the past it had been the breton who had shown up at his door; wearing his own worn clothes with just a sword at his side, and now Vilkas was the same.

He gave the guards a short salute and let one of them pull the flap back, inside was a new table; shorter than the last but long enough still to reach halfway down the room, on it sat many cups of wines and ale rather than any maps dispatches or the like. Reynald was as always at the top; in his usual garb of tanned linens and a long cloak; now clean shaven with his hair cropped to neck level.

To his left were his two breton commanders still present; Detritus and Ulrich, who predictably were dressed in silken fabrics and soft linens; that reminded Vilkas of too many perfumed sellswords that bandied their services around the courts of Skyrim, all of whom never completely understood that most nords; common and high born alike despised warriors who smelt better than most women.

Vilkas couldn't say he thought much of these two either, one seemed craven while the other could be likened to a wolf; always stalking for prey, Vilkas took a seat at the other side of the table, between Aela and the infinity more familiar; and trustworthy wizard Aranea Lenith.

Of course it seemed mad that a big hulking brute like Vilkas would ever prefer a willowy dark elf wizard like Aranea; against two arguably better men in the two facing her, but he knew there was a lot more to the dunmer that most knew; if only they took the time to look. Farkas thought originally that she was either greatly withdrawn or quietly mad, as she rarely spoke and did little but shadow Reynald.

But Vilkas saw it that instead what she really did was _watch_ those around her, and while she did not speak often her steady; indigo coloured eyes took in everything, so that when Farkas went on a rant about the mage and how quiet she was, Reynald told him '_She is the truest of dunmer, loyal, honour bound; and wise beyond measure. She speaks only when necessary, and does not waste words like a common fool; on things she has no knowledge off'_.

Vilkas could remember the smile he had to force down as Farkas choked on the implications of what Reynald had said, never had it been said that his brother didn't waste a chance to _not_ waste a word.

Reynald didn't waste any time now that Vilkas was there, in what looked to be the sole account of his available retinue, he told those assembled "You've been called today because I have resolved to ride for Skyrim; myself with some few others of my choosing, I won't argue the fact any longer. That said; it is left to me to leave someone to act on my behalf, I won't be some leagues away this time; nor will I be able to provide direction unless I am recalled my messenger; which in itself will take many days", Vilkas took the news as a surprise, there was not much men coming from Skyrim now, which in itself either told them that the nords left did not wish to follow Reynald's uprising; or that something had been happening within their homelands.

Vilkas supposed it didn't serve Reynald to comment on such happenings to the common nord soldier if there was something amiss, he didn't need his recruits flocking back home in droves after all, but Vilkas all the same would be glad to return home himself if only for a while, but Reynald continued on despite Vilkas' and his straying mind "You are the people I can rely upon in my absence; and those within the field of course, but I still must make someone the first among my captains in my stead", The perfumed sell swords across the table listened on intently now Vilkas noted, the darkly handsome one even seeming to wipe his mouth free of some drool; if not most likely wine.

Reynald stood up and Vilkas noted the underlying finery of what he wore now, in a contrast to his usual dress, his cloak was finely made and sable dark; lined with chestnut furs along the edges and across the shoulders; thick enough to resemble a prostrate beast. His underlying clothes were bronzed leathers darkly oiled, with chainmail polished with silver running across his chest; all along his arms to gauntleted forearms, those being of the same silvery coating with dragons prominent upon the wrist protector.

Aela stood too; looking less refined in her usual dress of stained leathers and washed underclothes, but it wasn't that what Vilkas noticed as his fellow took to Reynald's side, it was the ornately carved wooden box at the dragonborn's left side rather. Vilkas hadn't noticed it before, but as he did now he saw that it had nordic runes and sketches upon the length; in the style of those found within the different ruins that ran throughout Skyrim, it was as tall across the floor as Reynald would have been standing; and was as wide as he was shoulder to shoulder, he had no idea what was inside until Aela parted the lid; and with great effort lifted what was there into an upright position.

Vilkas would have known it if he had stood at two hundred paces, rather than the few he now sat from what Aela presented, _Wuuthrad,_ the battle-axe of the return; of old Atmora, the weapon of Ysgramor; the first harbinger, the first man, and the bringer of words. What it was as a beacon to all companions and by extension; nords and men in their entirety, yet Vilkas knew it was a weapon of some fearsome quality also.

A double sided battle-axe; the weapon was as tall as Reynald and nearly as wide at the apex, it resembled from afar the ornate ebony battle-axes fancied by high born lords and mercenaries; who could either afford or kill for such a costly weapon, but in reality it was made of a far denser and darker shade of metal; so dark a shade that it resembled the ill purity of the blackest shadow.

The knowledge of the metal was lost to the northern seas; but Vilkas knew it was as heavy as any of the metals of Tamrielic weapons and far keener, Aela could be seen to strain to hold it upright with just the one wiry arm; and Reynald who was both strong and conditioned would not be able to fully wield the weapon either effectively.

Vilkas and Farkas; even Aela in their cups all agreed that only a truly powerful warrior could employ the weapon, it would take someone larger and stronger than any breton; Reynald included to swing the weapon with enough force to smash an enemy's head in, or block a stroke, or a hundred strokes, or to swing it over and over again as a battle would demand.

Strong as Reynald was he was no nord, and Vilkas and the other companions accepted it all the same, but Reynald took the weapon in his oft hand all the same, "As some of you know; and some of you don't, this is the axe that Ysgramor used to drive the old elves from what is now known as Skyrim, it was and still is a reminder of man's refusal to bow to the elves." Vilkas wasn't looking at his friend Reynald Manis now; he wore the face of the dragonborn, and there was as much steel there as there was coating his tone.

He told them with a pointed look, "So far we've fought only the imperial army; and the kingdoms of High Rock, but this weapon is a reminder of why we're here. Some of you, all of you, have counselled me to attack the imperials, why not? Since we bloodied them at the crossing; and burnt their stores at wrothgaria, if anything they sit now freezing and starving; and could be taken", the two men facing Vilkas murmured their agreement with what he said, and Vilkas could see the dark eyes of Detritus bore into Reynald as he spoke, "Yet I did not come here to spill the blood of the legions, and if I make an assault on the mountain then I'll be no better than the Aldmeri dominion. Rather I came to light the fires of rebellion here, I'd rather fight beside the legion than against them".

There was a noticeable pause then, and Vilkas beat the others to the argument, "The legion considers you a rebel, they've already arrayed against you brother, how can you hope to win them around?", the question made all the others at the table agreed with him out of practicality rather than camaraderie then, but Reynald held back any more words with an upraised hand.

"I know you all disagree with what I say or think; and that force of arms is my only choice, I do not ever attempt to back down; and if it follows that only war remains then I will follow that path", Vilkas could hear the _but _before Reynald spoke again, he could not count how many times the breton had stood listless; mourning over all the dead imperial soldiers he had helped to kill, even_ murder_ as he sometimes called it, "though I will not do so if another path remains open, that other path will hopefully be secured by Sybille Stentor, who if successful will either bring Shornhelm to my side; or remove them from taking sides in this conflict. If they do not help the imperials upon the wrothgarians, then they will leave them to their own fate, and as we have enclosed around the mountain the imperials will then be like a fish in a trap, hunger and the cold will weaken them".

"The colds upon the mountain are deadly; and hunger more to that will do for the imperial army, but what if they try and break free; or worse yet the legions in Daggerfall move to relieve them" Ulrich; the third and lesser of the three breton captains asked, Vilkas suspected Reynald didn't think much of the man, but he answered him with the same consideration all the same "Then they'll find there are many towns and cities fortified alike, that stand between them and the wrothgarians, your good man Kastus; and Vilkas' own brother Farkas has seen well to that". So Farkas had; much to the ire of Aela and Vilkas himself, who hated to hear the ever haughty companion wax on about his successes.

Kastus had rightly told Farkas when he suggested scaling the first town that imperial cities and towns alike could be deprived of the responsibility for surrendering, if the imperial legion did not make a determined effort to protect them first hand, an old ruling from the Septim times.

Farkas and Kastus at some length had been able to argue down the governor of Koegria city from putting up a determined resistance, after reminding him of the statute within imperial law, whether the emperor accepted such a claim was another matter however, but _there was no emperor though. _

Vilkas knew it would be on the minds of every governor; viscount; king, prince and pauper when faced with an army a few hundred strong, full of veteran nords; gold thirsty bretons and blood filled orcs.

"And if the legions and Shornhelm do come to an agreement, and we are faced with them together" Detritus, always brooding asked, Reynald replied as most knew he would "Then we'll fight as I said we would, but not until then", Reynald motioned for them to stand and they did, he was done listening.

The dragonborn took _Wuuthrad_ in his good hand at the apex; before hefting it up with his oft hand on the end, the battle-axe would look huge in anyone's hand; even if the world-eater itself had the thought to heave it up, "This weapon is a symbol for my aims, no more fighting legions; or kingdoms if it can be helped, I've had Farkas when commandeering towns order the publishing new declarations, commanding that any man; legion or no that if they take an oath to fight with me, they will be given a place to fight; rather than to suffer anymore. Every legion prisoner has been released, sent to tell their fellow officers and soldiers alike what I have decreed".

Detritus and Ulrich shared a look of disquiet; and the dragonborn surely saw it, though he paid it no mind, _let them_ _grumble _Vilkas thought, that was all they could really do. Reynald would leave one of them behind to take charge as he had already said, but Shor help the man; probably Detritus who went out of his way to disobey Reynald's standing orders.

If they did, well would Reynald go as far as to punish the insubordination by military law?

_Allow for one offence; and you may authorise the committing of many_ was a legionary saying Vilkas was familiar with, after having witnessed Reynald order out a man for execution; when found to have killed a local who had rightly protected his storehouses against the soldier, he'd told them all many a time that threat common law applies for all; and Vilkas still thought that wouldn't be enough for these power hungry bretons.

"_Wuuthrad_ will be held as an authority symbol by the person who leads in my absence" Reynald continued, but Vilkas stood up to contest; no breton can wield the weapon of Ysgramor he nearly said, but caught his mistake. Reynald gave him look of what could have been surprise; along with a small smile, before he held the weapon outward for Vilkas, "Not waiting for any introduction eh brother?", Vilkas didn't realise what the words had meant, until Reynald beckoned him forward.

He came to the forefront of the small audience, past Aela and with some reluctance; and small ease took _Wuuthrad_ in hand, his brown eyes went wide as Reynald turned to his assembly and said "I name Vilkas, my own friend and fellow companion my chosen commandant while I settle matters in Skyrim, from the moment I leave until the moment I return, his word is as definite as my own. Disobedience to his orders is tantamount to disobeying my own; and that incurs the same penalties of law".

Vilkas didn't truly understand what he heard at first, but as his mind caught up with the words he went to blunder out a hasty refusal; but Reynald placed a hand upon his shoulder to both appear friendly; but also to quiet him, "Aela goes with me to Skyrim, Aranea will stay to counsel on matters concerning the arcane arts, Ulrich will take over responsibilities to the general upkeep and maintaining of the camps, Detritus will handle another matter that will remain secret for the meantime, now all of you are dismissed; go about your duties and I will speak to you all on my return".

Everyone filed out then save Vilkas who took it upon himself to wait, he placed the double-axe of Ysgramor upon the table as soon as the others left and turned on Reynald, "You cannot leave me here to head an army of thousands, why not ask one of these ones that yearn for the standing" he said; almost pleading in his tone, Vilkas was baffled by what Reynald had just said, he was no leader of men; just a warrior along to fulfil his oath as a companion.

Reynald seemed unmoved; going to the table and picking up the mug he had left there, filled with what was surely now flat ale, "Over the past few weeks any other man I have thought to promote has proven that they do not understand my true goals, it must be someone who knows the real reasons of my rebellion" Reynald told him after a large swallow, his tone was as calm as his face.

Vilkas was not so composed, he shook his head numbly "Then what of Aela; or Farkas; or even the wizard Sybille; or even Aranea!" he asked hotly, he wasn't the man to conceal the same stratagem as Reynald beneath his bushy brow, nor could he think to talk men into his service as glibly as the dragonborn had.

It had to be someone else; as he was just a man with an axe, Reynald wouldn't accept that and told Vilkas with a certainty "Aela and Farkas are one in the same; exceptional warriors but with little diplomatic qualities, how can I rely on either of them not to react too quickly when of my High Rock men say a word out of turn; or not to show disrespect to king Shura. Aranea also is a master wizard; wise even beyond her two hundred odd years, but she prefers to align and advise rather than rule and direct. Sybille is a also a master wizard and a natural administrator, but she is no warrior; and her _circumstance _also means that I would not wish her to be placed under too great an examination, it must be you my friend"

But Vilkas wouldn't accept that, he was too much a warrior; not any less than Farkas or Aela and perhaps only a little less easily riled, he had no more desire than Aranea either to lead; nor could he, and Sybille might have been one of those _creatures_, but he too had the stain of being a feeder once in his time. He took up his own cup then and sank his ale in one fell swoop; but it tasted just as bad as Reynald's had he imagined, and with a sign he appealed with Reynald again "You ask too much of me brother, I will fight your enemies for you; until Shor calls if need be, but I am no leader of armies; do not ask it off me".

Reynald gave Vilkas a look then; full of sympathy but with a wry smile, he faced the towering nord and; placing an arm on his shoulder he said to him softly; but with resolve "I am sorry that you feel this way my brother, but you must know how wrong you are. I see in you the same doubt I was filled with many years ago on my first command, but then I was a youth; with less skill than that fool Torvar, but you are a man grown and have already conquered your greatest weakness, you will lead ably I have no doubt", _Aye, but I do_ Vilkas half said; before he resigned himself to his lot, Reynald looked to have enough faith in him to place all of his force under his command; how could he mew like a sow and refuse pigheadedly then?

The answer was that he couldn't, a companion does not run from any challenge he knew, "A companion may retreat, he or she may work to save their strength, but as Ysgramor showed, a companion must always meet what was laid ahead of him". Those were the words of the last harbinger Kodlak, the closest thing Vilkas had ever had to a father, a man much better than himself and a man who would have wanted him to fulfil his oath in any respect.

"I will do as you ask" he said after the thought crossed his mind; for good or ill he knew, "Tell me, you wish for peace yet the imperials I think will not simply hold up in their mountain and fade away; even if this Shornhelm does not provide relief for them, what do I do then?"

Reynald clearly didn't like that thought; and his discomfort showed if only a little, "Then fight then when they come down the passes, offer them as much quarter as you can but fight them until they break, we must be seen to contend with them; be seen to be as strong if not stronger in order to make them falter"

"and if Shornhelm combines with the legion to attack?", "Then divide your force and attack them both" was the reply, hardly satisfied Vilkas accepted the vague suggestion, but Reynald told him also that direction could be found in those advisors left for him.

"Remember brother, it may take some days to reach me of any attack or bad tidings, but then it will take me only moments to return here", Vilkas found comfort in that at least, but still he was disquieted by what could happen in just a few days.

_Wars can be won and lost in that time _he knew, and that what was what surely going to keep him disturbed until Skyrim was finally settled, "Shor be with you brother", Reynald gave Vilkas a smile then, to which Vilkas returned; but truly he could not help the feeling of dread that settled upon him.

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><p>I'd just like to say this chapter is a midpoint between any major battlesactions/fun or excitement, and it's mainly been used to perhaps guage out a more detailed and descriptive way of storytelling, and also giving some current background to whats going on with Reynald's rebellion, anyway i hope it's enjoyable and as always i like to hear your views.

Thanks again, Sdhfs.


	14. Many Happy Returns

Hello to anyone keeping on with this story, i've had a bad time lately due to life throwing me a few curve balls so i haven't really had time to keep this story going, however i'm back to it and with this rather slow outing this story will hopefully ramp up abit.

Anyway i hope you enjoy, thanks for reading!

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><p>The old; oaken door resounded with the same dull thump that Ralof recognised as trouble, trouble because it came before his own waking time at first light, and no one with good sense would wake up their commander at such a time; lest they wanted to be responsible for a new complex of latrines he'd always threatened to have built.<p>

Still feeling the effects of having been waken so abruptly, Ralof heard the door being belted a few more times before he shouted out in protest, and he knew only one man he knew could hammer his door as hard as that, it had to be his first captain at his door.

He got up from his expansive feather bed and crossed his quarters, a room with high ceilings and all the fine furnishings that came with residing in the most prominent lodging of castle dour, he unbolted the door and was met by Yohan; his chief lieutenant and acting captain of Solitude's guard, a tall and fierce looking man with hoary hair and a face weathered by age, Yohan wore steel mail and plate trimmed with furs and scales in the usual nord fashion; and over his shoulders he had a mighty looking broadsword that was as well worn as its owner.

Ralof could only guess at how much grim usage the weapon had faced during the veteran warriors service in the legion, with the stories of his prowess then where dwarfed only by those recently told, of a warrior who even well past his sixtieth year had killed two stormblades side to side; who were considered elite amongst all of king Ulfric's warriors in their entirety, not to mention another eight men personally before succumbing to his injuries during the battle of Morthal.

"Good evening commander, I bring news from the western border. Riders have been seen on the mount" was what the aged; yet powerfully built captain told him, striking up the younger man's curiosity even as sleep clouded his mind, "Are they showing banners?" was his question, as he motioned for his second to enter his room.

Yohan did just that; with Ralof having to clear the doorway just to accommodate the man's bulky frame, tall as all nords were Ralof was overshadowed by Yohan by a full span; which only added to the man's daunting look, a veteran of some forty years in the legion; the nord was nearer seventy than sixty, yet he could still swing the mightiest of war hammers and pull the staunchest of bows.

"Not at all, there all on horseback though, some two hundred or so the scouts report. Hardly a force of bandits running the roads" he reported; giving Ralof something to wonder about, though not as much to worry over compared to their recent woes.

The imperials had crossed to strike at Skyrim near two legions strong, passing through the passes at Riften and Falkreath. Soon after Ulfric and all his assembled strength marched southwards, leaving Dawnstar to be lost to some form of vampiric infestation, with only a few refugees to tell a horrific tale. So it was that southern Skyrim shook with war, while the northern towns and cities quaked in fear of this terrifying new threat.

It was all Ralof could do with his garrison to keep the peace in Haafingar, while some unchecked threat mustered strength in Dawnstar, no towns nor cities where able or willing to lend him their strength, and only he and his force remained to march forward, it was a fretful position.

"Two hundred men on horseback, perhaps Reynald has sent on some advanced force to announce his presence?" he pondered aloud, considering with some hope that the dragonborn would be as swift as he had known to be in the past, "We'll need to raise the barracks regardless of who these riders are, perhaps we'll meet them before they can get through towards the lowlands" Ralof thought, but Yohan had seen to it already.

"Agnar is marshalling his men in the courtyard, though I've had Glyfi keep the gates closed until you set out the orders, I didn't think you wanted him out and running amok" Yohan told him; and Ralof could not but agree, Agnar of clan Stone-Fist was the eldest son of Galmar Stone-Fist, just as rash if not more so than as his father, but he was also one of three lieutenants given to Ralof as his immediate subordinates, and the one Ralof could do without.

Glyfi of Mount Anthor and Yohan Arn-Hvatur were both fine warriors, Yohan was better with warlike weapons than most men in the prime of their lives; while Glyfi was a expert archer and keen tracker, but both men alike had been tempered by decades of following orders and answering to superiors, either in the legions or from their clan heads so that they were well suited to keeping their heads; and the peace.

Agnar however was boastful and full of pride, his father having seen to allow him some part in the skirmishes at the later part of the stormcloak rebellions, it had made him impulsive and unsteady, prone to rash outbursts and flaunting of anything he saw that went against traditional 'nordic' beliefs.

His new position had given him leave to harass foreigners and annoy the primarily imperial aligned populace of Solitude, leaving Yohan; Glyfi or Ralof to play damage control whenever he 'exerted' his authority.

Ralof had to stop the aged captain of his from throwing the young man in the stockade for his instigation of a bar brawl against a small group of travelling mercenaries in the last moon, if it wasn't for his father Ralof was sure Yohan would have had the insolent young nord flogged.

"Let's not give Agnar an excuse to land himself in trouble again then" Ralof dryly told Yohan; picking up trousers and a long over tunic left pressed by one of the castle's servants, the garments were darkly coloured and fine; unlike his old stormcloak blue soldering dress. They went well his long and equally rich looking sable cloak. He slid a sword belt around his waist that contained his blade of command; and pulled on knee high leather boots of the same tanned dye, then Yohan led the way out of the room and down through the castles hallways.

Though once bannered with legion colours and sometimes those of high kings of old; castle dour was now filled with the cobalt blues of Ulfric Stormcloak's own family colours, Ralof reflected that he never really thought he'd ever see the stormcloak colours inside the bastion of imperial Skyrim, but then he never thought he'd be the one that held command of it either.

"These riders must be Reynald's, and if not it's another problem before we march against Dawnstar" Ralof told Yohan irritably, not intending the words to come out sounding like grumbling, but Yohan didn't seem to mind and instead told him; bullish as always, "Friends or foes, it matters only a little. We have near seven hundred good men here, enough to deal with matters as they arise, why worry?"

The worry was that for near seven hundred men they had; half were green boys and the other veterans not half as sprite as Yohan, all of them perhaps good enough to face a civil insurrection, but how many could stand against something like a vampire, creatures who fed on the living or worse yet able to turn those stricken by them into undead slaves, could he really expect such men to hold the line against this horror?

Yet he had to all the same, his duty as a commander required it, "And if they've turned whoever couldn't escape the slaughter into thralls, a whole army of them for us to fight?" he asked when they neared the lower falls of castle Dour, near the war room which had once held the chief opponent to their insurrection.

"Then we do them the favour any of us would want with half a mind. They'll not sing our songs in Sovngarde for it, but vampires cannot get to grips with our nation, not as the war rages on." Yohan told Ralof, and he accepted the advice with a nod, but he couldn't have been happy about it. The war was the reason why the vampires could fester in Dawnstar with such impunity; it was galling how their fight for freedom had inadvertently caused such a turn of events.

He didn't ask the hulking nord what he thought of that however, as even being a former imperial Yohan would tell Ralof exactly what he had a dozen times before, there was no use reliving the past; instead prepare to face the future. With that in mind they exited castle Dour into its courtyard, now filled with hurrying soldiers and hard at work blacksmiths, the former pulling on armor and gathering weapons while the latter filled quivers and prepared saddlebags.

Ralof counted around near two hundred men gathered in the courtyard, walled off by castle Dour and its many arms and quarters, in all the confusion however were two men conspicuous by the gathered supporters they had at their backs. One was Agnar the son of Galmar, a tall youth who was clearly a nord; stocky in the body with a stern look upon his face despite his fair appearance. The opposing man was not quite the same sight though; he was neither as tall as the youth but not quite short, his frame was tough but neither bulky as Agnar nor as willowy as an elf, he was not as fair or handsome but still not quite ugly, Agnar shouted and growled but he only received a measured tone in response to bolster this persons seeming tedium.

He was Glyfi from mount Anthor; a boring looking man that wouldn't appear out of place among the common populace of any hold or city, yet he was a renowned soldier none the less, having hailed from the snowy mountains between Winterhold and Windhelm. His family had been a large group of near nomad like nords who usually bothered with nothing save hunting and their own mountain, so removed that nords from the cities and towns began to tell tales of these people having turned to man-beasts, performing the dark arts along with many other suggestions of perversion; in order to provide explanation for their isolation.

Ralof knew nothing about all of that however; he knew only what was heard throughout the ranks of the stormcloak army, the dragonborn; having decided to look upon the great edifice of Azura had came across a dragon upon the mountain, along with what remained of Glyfi's mountain clan. The resulting battle had been decided when Reynald gave help to the clan; slaying the dragon and settling the mountain, yet another legendary beast falling to the dragonborn.

Ralof approached the near dozen strong party of arguing nords and recalled the other rumour he had heard also, as Reynald had not been willing to take on Glyfi or any of the survivors he had brought down the mountain with him, it was apparently enough for Ulfric that the dragonborn had even suggested the high king put them all away into their mountainfasts again; that Ulfric had taken on their services.

Ralof could not discern the truth of it from mere rumours and half-heard talk, he knew of course that the dragonborn and high king Ulfric had their differences, but such an open slight between them was never seen by his eyes, Glyfi also was a near famed captain within the stormcloaks armies after having carried out noteworthy services in the latter stages of the war, it was more likely the man simply preferred Ulfric's banner to Reynald's.

"Stop this nonsense; the commander is here now!" Yohan ordered loudly; directly at Agnar who turned abruptly before half stepping back, catching himself as he saw who had shouted to him, "We've been waiting here since dawn break to move" Agnar complained while giving the aged captain a look of contempt.

Ralof couldn't blame the lad for the near frightful retreat; Yohan was a beast of a man with a voice to match, but he couldn't understand how nords like him held the veteran in disrespect for merely standing by his word, if Yohan had rightly turned traitor upon those he held a vow to; would that not make him a coward and oathbreaker?

"We'll have time yet to catch these riders if they do run, two hundred horses leave a few footprints after all. See to it that your men are ready to ride when we have news" Ralof told Agnar, firmly enough so that the youth didn't attempt to argue, "Have you any news from your scouts?" he then asked Glyfi; the less impressive looking captain having been given command of the scouts and patrols such was his talents.

His answer wasn't good, it never could be with bandits and all manner of terrible things roaming the hold, "The latest scouting party hasn't reported back yet, though they should have by this watch. I fear that something may be amiss, we should perhaps send out another party and sound the horns", Ralof groaned inwardly at the news, coming out as a desperate sigh that matched his downcast face.

_Damn king Ulfric to oblivion, I am not made for this _Ralof thought, hating the duty of such a heavy command, it was like a burden upon his mind at near every hour of the day, "We'll go to the gates and wait for the patrol, Yohan stay and muster up the men. We'll march out in force if needs be." he instructed, making for the triple gates of Solitude with a small trail of men behind him; as grim in the face as felt in his core.

The city beyond castle Dour wasn't so downbeat however; in fact it was soon to be teeming with life, alive with the exuberance that always met a city in the ascendency. The city had not suffered any real physical damage in the stormcloak siege Ralof remembered; as his party of five marched past the many different smiths that adjoined to the castles western gates, but rather it had been effectively cut off from the rebel held eastern territories for so that long that it's trade; along with it citizens suffered for it.

Now however each previously abandoned stall post and storefront was filled with traders and merchants, all of them filling out their stalls with wares that for so long had been withheld to Ulfric's original territories and holds. The high king would have gladly threw all of the imperial sympathizers and puppets from their countries maiden city, if he didn't need them to help provide towards the upcoming wars.

"Not one of these people would show king Ulfric an ounce of respect; much less me if the imperials hadn't been routed back to Cyrodiil. How can we lead our garrison out while these lot plot behind our backs?" Ralof asked the only captain accompanying him; Glyfi, while his three guardsmen gave them some semblance of a distance behind, his answer was as usual; blunt.

"Have you ever heard old king Harald's words, 'men and mer alike should be either generously treated or entirely destroyed, because while they can avenge themselves of lighter wounds; those great ones they cannot'. King Ulfric made the decision to spare these people further harm and now must deal with the consequences." Said Glyfi, the reply made Ralof question the mans logic if only for a moment, before he realized the words were true, king Ulfric could not have purged the city either by slaughter or eviction, it was not within him, Ralof would never have wanted to see such a thing happen either truthfully.

"Hopefully the city and it's people won't feel the need to avenge their wounds then" Ralof told Glyfi, though he could hardly think so given the ill luck the stormcloaks had faced as yet, losing both Windhelm and Solitude in such a short time would be a hammer blow to the very heart of their cause, the unease from the thought stayed with Ralof as he approached the main gates of Solitude with his guard in tow.

The gates, originally built during the second century of the third era were layered for a triple defence, with the strongest and highest of the gates at the final approach to Solitude, Ralof usually spent a time at the wall each day reviewing patrol findings and sending out parties when necessary, he knew today with the sighting of the horsemen he'd find more than a little activity beyond scouting however, and if he'd been heard by those horsemen themselves, the great horn that sounded from the tower beyond the walls confirmed it as a stark realisation for him.

"That could be the patrol, Anhilm is never late without cause" Glyfi said to Ralof with grim certainty, the man was right of course; as his fellow hill men and expert tracker Anhilm had gained a reputation of being always to the mark since the beginning of his time with the stormcloaks, "Tell Yohan to bring the men from the courtyard, we'll need to be ready for whatever is happening" Ralof told the captain before making for the gates in a rush.

Glyfi turned without a word while Ralof rushed past the few sellers who had gathered around the stores close to Solitude's gates, his men followed behind just as quickly, while only a handful of those assembled gave the men any acknowledgement as they passed on.

"What news" he shouted to the guards up on the walls, all of them armed with bows and wearing the helms and colours of the stormcloaks, one archer he knew as Lethil told him with a shout "Our riders have passed the watchtower, they look to be in a hurry commander", Ralof quickly shouted for the gates to be open and ordered the men above him to string their bows, he motioned for his guards to follow him as he rushed out and towards the first gate that enveloped the small lane to the city.

Coming from the pathway; past the tower and first solid defensive line for Solitude came five riders, wearing ragged leathers and cloaks, they had cloth cowls covering their faces, with short swords and light hunting bows for arms, none of them let up as they beat their horses to reach the city as the first gateway retracted.

The head rider; who was a fellow tribesmen of Glyfi's pulled back his cowl and searched around him for his kinsmen, he was of Glyfi's blood and unlike his fellow he was tall and strong, lean looking with a dark face covered in a bushy beard and wild locks, he had half glad news for Ralof, "Those riders have passed the old rune stone and are coming by way of the high road, they didn't look to catch sight of us but their moving hard for the city. Also we could see that they wore no imperial armours or the golden of the elves, but rather steel cuirasses and round shields, they looked like mercenaries with no banner", exactly half good news it seemed to him, not quite the dread of hearing some force of mounted elves or imperials, but what sort of men where these he wondered?

"Was there any sign of the dragonborn, or perhaps even his companions?" Alfhan shook his head, "At their head was a warrior in white linens holding a long spear, a noble in black and another who we couldn't make out, whoever they are we'll soon find out." The tribal told Ralof and he accepted it for what it was; and let the man trot off with his scouts to get some rest, while from the opposing direction came Yohan and his other captains with a part their assembled garrison.

The garrison was in the few hundreds; which for a city of Solitude's size was deplorable, the only saving grace was that during a siege the cities small exposure from having a single entryway would mean the need for less troops, yet Ralof wasn't thinking about sieges, he was thinking about leading his army out into the wilds and with that leaving the city to whatever imperial loyalists felt treacherous enough to return the city to imperial control.

That thought was bad enough, but even still the six hundred or so men he had were a mixture of fresh faced farmers and village boys; bolstered by veterans too many years past their best to be considered true soldiers anymore, all of the real soldiers were needed in the south of course.

Yet all of them though had good equipment due to the smiths in the city; each one wore long cloaks and padded boots to protect from the cold along with mail and leathers underneath to provide a defensive edge, their helmets were styled simple half helms mostly but with some bears, wolf and dragon helmets within the midst of them.

Save Yohan and his two other captains each man held a round iron and wooden shield with all manner of weapons; there were those armed with swords and axes, spears and bows along with mauls and maces, scythes and even one nord who fancied himself a redguard with a silver finished curved sword, Ralof had thought to arm all his men with a spear; sword and shield but yet again the limited resources available once again prevailed, he'd be hard pressed to get these boys and haggard's working in union.

Yohan at the head of the small force along with Glyfi blending in behind gave him some hope, the huge captain was nearing his elder years yet he could still best any man whether it be sword, axe or mace, Glyfi meanwhile was the best scout Ralof had ever worked with, that had to count for something in the balance of things.

"The men are ready commander, six hundred and ninety four all in, awaiting your orders" Yohan told him as the veteran climbed the stairs unto the wall, following him was Glyfi and Agnar who ascended with the former in his simple leathers and some mail, while Agnar rather bravely decided to wear full plate armour even knowing they had more than a days ride ahead of them, 'never wear enough armor to bog you down' his father; an old warrior for the jarl of Whiterun had once told him.

"Good, then we'll have more than enough to settle these riders once they each the city" Ralof told them, which caused a look of confusion among them, "there coming here?" Agnar asked with evident surprise, "but why?"

"There either some vanguard of the dragonborn or some high born breton dull enough to inform us of his demise in the west at my best guesses" Ralof answered, though he didn't quite consider the second thought to have any potential, "I doubt any breton besides Reynald himself could end his life, and he isn't the stupid type either; if there is truly any stupid bretons. It'll be the reinforcements we've been waiting on" Ralof assured them, they all nodded but looked to be unsettled, marching without support would be like marching without hope.

"How many men do you intend to leave in the city?" Glyfi asked; as always to the heart of things, but Ralof didn't know the answer to that question. An imperial hold since the days of the first unbroken line of the Septim's, Solitude could be considered imperial rather than nordic in both culture and ideals, if he as the stormcloak garrison commander marched out without leaving enough guards behind then he could well see the whole of the city; with or without the jarls approval attempting to revolt against the stormcloaks.

Too many men left however meant he would march on Dawnstar, a city of some thousands with only enough men to garrison a fort, he needed Reynald's men, or Ulfric's fledging kingdom would fall apart at the seams, "We will need to leave at least three hundred men to hold the gate and castle dour, that will leave us with near four hundred men to march with if Reynald's hand isn't in these cavalrymen"

"That won't be enough, we'll be slaughtered if even a quarter that number of vampires is within the city. Remember what happened to the scouts" Glyfi pointed out, and Ralof couldn't help but remember the pure terror that had taken hold of their scout; from a party of twelve no less that made for Dawnstar and only he had returned from, the tales he told were enough to frighten any man. "I have been given a charge by our king, whether to victory or death; we will do our duty" he told the three of them assembled without a hint of doubt.

"Let's just hope it doesn't come to that." Glyfi replied before turning way in something resembling disapproval.

Ralof couldn't blame the in some parts, he was well aware of the tales their scout had told them through chattering teeth and blood soaked cloak, from what they knew from refugees the vampires had first attacked in secret, but perhaps even with some hundreds with all their beasts and thralls to accompany them at the end as the scout told them. They had disguised themselves as the city guard, so that when Ralof's men had come to investigate the reports, the vampires laid a trap which only this one man survived.

'I saw from the hill…our men taken to the forefront of the town and torn to pieces by wolves…the screams filled the air until the vampires descended upon them in a hunger.' Was what he had told them last of his fellows parting, before his eyes lost their fire and the healers could do no more.

His mind was ill at ease at the thought, but then from the hill overlooking the city came something resembling a fighting chance, a rush of horsemen in polished steel holding lances and bows, swords and maces upon fleet mounts. Their armour in all was that of a rich company and not the one looked a bandit or a brigand, at there head was the three his scout had told him off; and all three looked beyond even their following company.

One was a man in a rich black cloak riding an equally dusky horse, who Ralof recognised easily as he closed the distance, with him was a lithe looking person holding a long spear in a robe of stark white, while the other was the huntress of the companions Ralof could never quite forget, all three came forward along but behind the fiery haired woman came another hardy looking warrior in a silver finished cuirass and similarly fine mail and plate metals, a mace and broadsword at either side of his white charger.

Ralof didn't waste time when he caught sight of the man on the lead horse, he ordered the gates to be thrown open and came down from the first real barrier of Solitude, his captains followed him as the four riders entered; all of them looking proud and hardy despite the look of their travel stained garments and restless horses, "You are a sight for sore eyes brother" Ralof told Reynald he took his horse in hand, allowing the dragonborn to pull himself from the saddle.

He was as Ralof remembered him; lean and youthful looking despite his beard and hair having grown long and wild, his eyes were bright and his face touched by a smile as he took in his former comrade turned city commander. But though he was a man without a place to call his own Ralof could see that Reynald looked princely, his armor was a breastplate and gauntlets of polished silver and snow-white mail; along with a sable dark robe that matched his horse, a weary prince he looked, but a prince nonetheless.

"Here you are; one of Ulfric's own bodyguards and the finest axe men south of the five peaks, even when I hear there is a war in the south that engulfs from the reach to the rift. Tell me, why is it that I find you in this city of all places?" said Reynald, with one of his arms coming to embrace Ralof as a dear friend, and he returned it too eagerly.

"This city and all of Haafingar has been left to my protection, and that of the men you see with me, though hardly would I think this is the best merits I could accomplish in such dire times" he told the dragonborn, despite the great honour bestowed upon him, Reynald nodded in understanding and told him plainly "Men such as us are more content with an sword; or an axe in hand, though I doubt Ulfric could find another man as trustworthy as yourself. Tell me though, who are these captains of yours that have been left out of the war."

Ralof beckoned his three captains forward and told their names, "This is Yohan Arn-Hvatur; who you've probably heard of by reputation if nothing else, and you of course know Glyfi, but this man also is Agnar; son of Galmar Stone-Fist." Reynald appraised them all, giving Yohan a long look before crossing eyes; briefly with Glyfi, and then looking onto Agnar who stood looking bold and proud.

"I have indeed heard of the 'beast of Morthal', though I'd have thought gaining Yohan elf-hewer would have placed you at the forefront of Ulfric's army, rather than holed up inside the safest city in Skyrim" Reynald said directly to Yohan, coming up shorter than a full head compared to the aged warrior, "I've known of you even before the dragon crisis; even before the start of the civil war, you're a hero of mine I'll admit, there aren't many men that could say the dragonborn envied them."

Yohan looked a little surprised for his part on hearing that, but still looked proud and replied "Your words are a shock to say the least; though I suppose my deeds have reached many ears given the length of my reputation. Elf hewer is a name given to me long ago during the battle of the red ring, I wonder how you heard it given that Stormcloaks young and old know me by my actions within the swamps of Morthal?"

Reynald told him with not a little pride "Owing to my own good fortune; I was once apprenticed under an old veteran in the legion, known not a little by his skill with the blade, we all knew him as the elfish half hand; but I'm sure you knew him as Saverus Nern." Yohan now looked fully caught, and with admiration rather than his usual stony tones told the dragonborn "I had heard that you were the finest swordsmen to be found anywhere in Tamriel, in both the elfish races and men. Hardly would I have believed it had I not heard of your mentor; a long lost friend of mine, he was surely the only person; man or mer I have met that could put a stain on my thirty odd year reputation"

Ralof was piqued by that admission, but Reynald didn't indulge them further, "I wouldn't be so bold as to think myself the finest swordsman in Tamriel; much less this hallowed country given such men as yourself, good sir, though enough of our mutual friends teachings have stuck, given the bloody nature of the times. I wonder by what small fortune that we have men such as you to combat a threat lesser men would quail at, not to mention the valorous men I also have brought to bear with me", It was to the point Ralof like Yohan agreed, and the men he had assembled in all looked to be as valiant as their leader.

Reynald took to one side, allowing Ralof and his captains to look upon his own companions, "These are the most respected of my followers; Aela the huntress of my own companions, but all others are from High Rock. They are Zaric of Wayrest and Galien of Northpoint; and I'd wager between them they are the finest cavalrymen in all of the western lands." The dragonborn boasted, and Ralof looked them over and admitted that despite them being bretons, they looked exceptional if nothing else.

The warrior in the stark white robes held a lofty spear in hand that looked to be made of some strange; and by that rare metal, with a lengthy point at the end that looked fit to pierce a troll thigh to shoulder, and though he looked far too handsome and unmarked for Ralof to believe he'd ever been in a true battle, he expected Reynald would not bring such a man unless he was assured of his quality.

The other warrior in the heavy plate and mail looked stockier than most bretons he'd encountered; including his prominent lord, he had at his waist a broadsword and mace at either side of a belt to promise a studier challenge than the former it seemed, "I appreciate your help in these chaotic times, long has the days been of late while looking for your response" he told them, not quite sure why only an assembly of bretons had been brought in response to trouble with the nordic homelands, "Perhaps we should retire inside the city and allow your men some respite?" he suggested to which Reynald agreed.

"Tell me of these vampires and what has befallen Dawnstar, for it is a troubling tale to hear such wild things in an already troubled time"

Inevitable and hard to answer Ralof thought; and he couldn't pick a reply that fitted the question, not with his scouts being slaughtered; and the very nature of sending more a death sentence for his men, "Truly I do not know, my scouts were found and cut to pieces when they first tried to raconteur along the outskirts of the city, nor do I know how these creatures have taken hold of the city completely. Finally I'm afraid I cannot tell you to what extent they have amassed within the city; and I believe there would be no way to find out prior to an attack."

Reynald looked to contemplate the information for a moment, clearly displeased by the lack of it by the crossed look on his face. Then though he turned to his comrade Aela and asked "Do you think you could scout out the city; vampires and all?" the fiery haired woman answered with a lazy air of certainty "Of course I can, I'm no lumbering dolt. Summon me a fresh mount and I could ride on to carry out this duty?", but Glyfi started up in protest, not liking the idea of her attempting this thing alone.

"I wouldn't be so quick to rush off to Dawnstar, these vampires were smart enough to know any scouting party would come from the west. They have some of their own brood patrolling the woods and hills, and these vampires are notorious for their sharp sight and perceptive-

"I know more about those vile creatures than you ever will" Aela contempt fully told Ralof's own head scout, leaving Glyfi to look at her with as much indignation the usually stoic man could muster, "It was your lot that got themselves caught and killed in the first place, though if I follow suite then you can reproach my corpse".

Ralof could barely suppress a grin at the woman's scathing; though humorous barb, Reynald was the same and told her with a small smile "I'm sure one of Ralof's men can provide you with supplies and a fresh mount, if you really wished to attempt such a thing. I could even tell you to be careful, for all the good it would do me".

"I've yet to meet one of those leaches that could come within a breath of me; without a fair few keenly tipped arrows to speed them on their journey towards full death. Nevertheless I would say that you shall look for me on the western spread of Dawnstar's mountain expanse, when you march for it's relief, I shall take my leave now and await you at the hills; do try to make good time, I would hate to have to feather all those blood letters myself." Aela said, waxing proud and humorous before she left them to return outside the first gate of the city, "That woman has taken so many fair kills from my blade she almost makes me wonder if she isn't trying to out due me; if not at least protect me, let's hope we'll not leave her too long while our men assemble together" Reynald said while watching her go, distracted by his thoughts it seemed if only for the moment.

"The rest of my men could do with settling down for awhile before we march for Dawnstar, only for a watch or two while your own men are prepared" the dragonborn told him then, and Ralof could only agree, he couldn't expect these men nor their horses to march so quickly after arriving, "how long will it take the remainder of your force to arrive" he asked, eager to hear when they could move out in strength, but Reynald gave him a curious look.

"This is the entirety of the force I have brought my friend, two hundred cavalrymen I had guarding Farrun while I moved west. All of my strength remains in High Rock" Reynald told him; causing Ralof to involuntarily clench his sword hilt in what could only be anger, _two hundreds bretons? _He could only think, "I had heard some hundreds of nords had crossed the borders to join your cause, could you not have returned them also?" was his question, as they approached the final defence of Solitude, draped with the wolf's head of Ulfric's banners.

"For me to pull back some six hundred foot soldiers…it would have taken weeks, time we do not have. Rather I decided to move fast and quick to settle this matter quickly, besides these two hundred of mine are professional soldiers who can sustain a charge, nothing a horde of thralls and minions could endure", a strong argument Ralof knew, as he'd heard of what damage a cavalry charge could do against unorganised opposition when executed, but a vampire powerful enough to overthrow an entire city surely had creatures and powers at his commander that bettered two hundred bretons surely?

He asked him just that, but mindful of the two warriors behind him he was careful, "Surely the nords would have suited better though, they would surely wish to fight in defence of all of Skyrim; even if Dawnstar was not their own home", but Reynald shook his head however and rounded on Ralof just before the main gate, he told him plainly "If I had to sneak out of my own base dressed like this, then how could I have marched hundreds of soldiers back towards Skyrim without drawing the attention of those that opposed? I could not, which is why one dragonborn; a huntress; a Wayrest lancer and two hundred cavalrymen will have to settle Dawnstar and these vampires. Tell me though; just how many men do you have at your command to make you fret so?"

"Six hundred, minus those that I'll need to keep to hold the city" he answered, Reynald pulled a face and replied in confusion "Six hundred men; militia and all, Solitude holds thousands of men who didn't leave with the fourth to call for a militia. Not to mention that hasn't there always been a stock surplus of arms and armours in case of regional defence?"

"There is" Ralof answered again, knowing where Reynald was going, "but this city was almost wholehearted in its support for keeping the empire in Skyrim, which is nothing to say for their love for the high king. You can't expect me to arm them, there more likely to stab my men in their backs; more than likely now given the legion marching in the south"

Reynald shook his head as if trying to dispel a malady; his pleasant face became indignant and he said to Ralof patiently "You nords pride yourselves on loyalty and honour, yet you all on either side of this war think the other treacherous and vile. How can you hope to stand against both the empire and the dominion if you do not stand together?" the dragonborn asked him with such conviction that Ralof could see his thoughts as true if only briefly, but then he remembered the hard years of the civil war; and all the injustices that had befallen his friends and answered, "I must protect as I know best, and these nords to me are nothing like those who stood against the tyranny of the dominion; and the corruption of the empire. You cannot expect me to hold them as brothers the like of you"

"I suppose I cannot, but remember that in all battles both familiar and strange, it is better to march forward with twice your host than two parts of a whole. That will become clear before the end" Reynald replied with some disappointment, though not quite sullen, Ralof led him off into the city to beyond the assembly of men.

There he saw what Ralof saw; a collection of fighting men that looked rather like a reserve rather than any true fighting force, farmers and city guards weathered by age, Ralof knew with a hint of indignity that Reynald was a veteran legionary, he would not be impressed.

"men fit to take on an empire" the dragonborn said with a sigh, and he turned to Ralof said "While my men rest for awhile I would like to ask for compassion from the nine, would you show me the way to the temple?", "Of course" Ralof said and led the way after saying to his captains, "Prepare the men and have them ready for nightfall, let those behind know of their duties".

He dismissed his men then as did Reynald, and the two marched through the throng of soldiers who themselves were told to disperse and ready themselves for a night march, many though stayed and looked upon Reynald as he passed; as did those in the town so that Ralof could not forget what this man was to the people of Skyrim.

Galmar had once in his anger called Reynald 'a soft sworded imperial sympathizer', when the breton had allowed Rikke and her men safe passage from the ruins where they had unearthed the crown of the kings of old, but all in their wrath and not knew he was the saviour of them all. It showed as when the pair waded throught he city soldiers and citizens alike called out for his blessing; or gave theirs in returns, while the more uplifted soldiers saluted with their swords and spears, "You have the hearts of this lot" Ralof said into his ear and Reynald smiled back, "I have done them no disservice to make them hate me" he replied with an easy smile.

The two of them got away from the crowds and began to ascend the parapet which led to castle dour, all chiselled stone and hard irons that cast no doubt as to how many battles the chief fortress of Skyrim had seen, "Tell me of how Windhelm; the kings own keep has fallen, and more importantly to whom" Reynald asked after they had ascended away from the fairground, Ralof was no less forthcoming with his tales; yet no more insightful.

"I know little of what happened in Windhelm, save that it was taken while Ulfric marched south to meet Tullius and his bastard legions. Some say that it was an uprising of the dark elves in their entirety, but then others say that some company of redguards had betrayed the king's trust and rallied the elves for the imperials, others yet speak tales of nords having a hand in the foul business. No real report has been given light just yet, though it is a hammer blow regardless of those at it's heart"

The news looked to have unsettled Reynald, who couldn't fathom the treachery needed to carry out such an act, such guile was beyond the comprehension of Ralof who had dismissed the news as quickly as it had came, finding it to be true in latter days had been a decisive blow to his confidence; and all those who called themselves stormcloaks he knew, "you have much to ask of me then, to wrest Dawnstar from a host of vampires and restore Windhelm to your charges; who had lately lost it, I say it should be me having the lordship and the titles friend"

"Would you take it if I offered? To fly Ulfric's flag for him instead myself? I wonder if that would not be a better thing" Ralof said to the dragonborn's jest, but Reynald put a hand to his shoulder, and calmly told him "You are the man placed in command, for now I'm only a captain looking to aid you, we would not quarrel as some would; but instead we will settle all these threats together." Ralof agreed wholeheartedly with a smile as they passed through castle dour's courtyards towards the temple, built into the same smoothly carved stone which in all was a huge; interlocking maze of ramparts, high towers, fortified temples and palace buildings centred around the imposing mass that was the castle grounds itself.

The temple was just off the eastern side of the great bastion, and Ralof said to his companion as they entered through the strong; amber coloured doors "Did you ever think you and I would sit in these grounds together, as commander and honoured guest alike?" Reynald asked, "never did I think I would ever see this city as a safe haven friend, though we'll need to work hard to keep ourselves in these warmer cities" Reynald joked, leading into the temple that Ralof always found smelt of fresh honeycomb and fresh pine, and seemed welcoming whether it be stormcloak or citizen alike.

One amongst them came forward, a weathered looking nord named Rorlund who was the new highest priest of the divines, from a face of wrinkles and worry lines he greeted them "Divines grant you a fine day dear fellows. Have you come to make an offering to the nine?"

They both gave a half bow and Ralof said amiably "My fellow here would like to make his prayers if it be allowed, I suppose I would do well to do the same, by your leave priest of the nine", "of course, all are welcome here" , the old mad said under a lame smile and gave them leave to proceed inwards.

Both men approached the nine carvings of their worship, which stood at the end of a room at an oval high roof; which under held sombre looking stone that was carved into nine individual tear shaped shelves to house the shrines of mankind's pantheon, wild berries and dusky plants stood around the pantheon while offerings both bright and muted skirted around the edges of the effigies.

Ralof always did prefer the smaller; out of the way shrines that one could take time to make for and in that reflect, but he admitted to have all the nine in one place made his prayers work over all those who he gave his faith, and life towards upholding, and in all they included the chief diety ; Akatosh dragon god of time, Kynareth the goddess, Arkay god of the dead, Julianos god of wisdom, Mara goddess of love, Zenithar god of works, Dibella goddess of love, finally there was the emblazed sword hilt that made up that of Talos; the god or war and near sole component for the war against the dominion, it seemed like a very small thing then to have so many fall Ralof always thought.

The pair of them; now within the spectrum of the temples shrines made obeisance to the nine in all, both of them going to a knee and bowing their heads reverently. Reynald and Ralof alike spoke words to the deities in a whisper; the dragonborn to Stendarr for his vigilance against the dead, Ralof as always gave his words to the now restored shrine of Talos in the hope for strength against the coming battle, it was something that he had prayed for since his first battle amongst his stormcloak brethren.

There after a time both men relaxed and sat to prayer for awhile, and all Ralof could hear was the murmurings of priests and priestesses. After a small while though they rose up on shaken legs and could feel a wisp of magicka in the air as it swelled and became potent around them, "the divines' breath on your neck" priests of the nine would always say, Ralof could only feel that they would need it before this new battle was done.

It had not been a seamless transition from imperial province to free nord nation after all, even for him to stand in Solitude as commander and confidant of a true nord king had cost countless lives of his brothers and sisters, he could hardly have hoped that once they where liberated there country would never again suffer wars and death.

"If you wish we can have a meal in the dining rooms while your men recuperate some of their strength, discuss perhaps how we will approach Dawnstar?" Ralof proposed to Reynald who readily agreed, the dragonborn had suffered dry meats and stale bread for far too long on his journey and was keen for some fine food, but a new arrival had entered while the men had made their prayers.

The person was well known to both men; Ralof had not soon forgotten the look of his chief nuisance and Reynald was always able to remember a face, or more aptly such a pleasing face, the jarl of Solitude was of course who they had to see, and it seemed Ralof's bane was working directly to ply pleasantries with his chief ally.

The lady was there with her entourage; including three handmaidens all of whom were fair looking but veiled, a hulking bodyguard in plated armour who never left her side, another steward Ralof could remember was called Falk Firebeard, and the newest addition to her revenue; a dark elf who had taken up the position of court mage.

Ralof did not mind the three handmaidens who said nothing, nor the bodyguard who said little and seemed little interested in any politics, but her steward was a miscreant; always eager to push Ralof with his chipped comments and veiled insults, the new wizard, IImyna Hlaren was as secretive as she was cunning, already people from street criers to family heads had been seen in her company in the past few weeks, it unsettled him.

"Jarl Elisif" Ralof said neutrally with an incline of his head, meeting her halfway as the jarl finished exchanging words with the priest, "Commander Ralof" she replied; a moment before she caught sight of the person behind the stormcloak, and her eyes widened and she near pushed passed him to greet Reynald.

"My lord Reynald; I had not heard you were expected on this day, though I had heard that the commander had sent for you-but it is a fortunate thing that you are now here" the fair woman beamed, and Reynald couldn't help but smile wide and offer her a more courteous; and well meant bow, "It is a pleasure to see you well my lady, I had not thought I would have time to share a moment with you I'm afraid" he told her, but Elisif took his hand in hers and lead them both away to the front of the priests dais.

Ralof forced himself not to glare as Elisif pleaded in that _sickly sweet_ toneof hers, "I have heard terrible things from Dawnstar, evil things tat keep me fearing for the safety of my people. I'm glad you have come here to provide some true safety that I fear is now lacking in Skyrim, and perhaps even I may be able to help you through my new friend IImyna here." Ralof heard the jab at him but ignored it, he could hardly berate the Jarl of the city in full view of her court and the priests.

From a mask of nightshade coloured skin and sea green eyes the dunmer told them "I have an old friend who in travel from Winterhold to the western holds came by a passing company; for lack of a better word, of strange men and elves alike. She reported they held no banners nor sigils yet marched as if they were a war party. There is something more terrible that that though; for within their ranks were creatures in all manner of terror, vile spiders that were giant and festering, wolves as fierce and vicious as the most feral dog, and skeletons and shambling zombies. They marched westward towards the coast; surely towards Dawnstar, and many of them she sensed were not of the living," was the report, troubling so that Ralof could not even bring himself to accuse the dunmer of holding such knowledge back; yet it was upon his mind, "What sort of number are we speaking of here?" he asked more importantly, but IImyna could only shake her head.

"She could not say completely; as some of the wolves caught her scent and chased her for a time, but she said it looked like a mustering of some many dark places and twisted minds, these wild men and elves marched in loose smatterings but she could count some hundred at least, of the creatures she could see a pack of wolves; at least a dozen of the spiders and more than a whole three dozen of skeletons and zombies alike."

"What can I make of this? An army of terror mustering around Dawnstar like a cretin upon a corpse. This is a fear as terrible as could be imagined!" Ralof miserly exclaimed, not a one there could contest his words, each one of them could not believe the report. "If all the evil is gathering towards Dawnstar for some malevolent purpose, then this is a fight that will take more than our assembled might. I believe it is time enough to consider gathering more men Ralof," said Reynald, and hard as it was the stormcloak commander could not bring himself to disagree.

The jarl noted their intent keenly it seemed, "You mean the militia of course?" she asked Ralof and he answered with a curt nod, with that Falk Firebeard came to the jarls side. Tall and fair like all nords, the steward had a head of fiery locks and wore always fine garments; rings and lockets as befitted his station, he spoke in rich tones and informed them "I have kept in constant contact with the old captain of the watch, and he often keeps checks with his men. There are enough to restore the guard to somewhere near it's old strength in time, but for now he could at least guarantee you some hundred or so men ready to defend the city if needed," Ralof paused at that, and looked twice at both the steward and jarl, "Tell me Falk, why before would you need word of the previous captain and his men?" he asked, and for a moment the steward looked troubled by his question.

"Isn't it always wise to know the dealings of allies in these dark days" he answered and Ralof looked hard at him for a long moment, "We need to stand together now more than ever Ralof" Reynald said beside him, and the jarl agreed, "You may not trust me commander, and I do not trust you, but should we not stand together to help liberate the people of Dawnstar from such a horrible foe?", Ralof could not find the refusal that he wished for then, and the news startled him more than enough for him to look on the fair lady and wonder if she truly wished to secure their people.

Then owing to his precarious position he said "If your friend tells the truth, then in all we face a mightier task that we could have imagined before. I for my part will allow you to provide these militia men for the use of Dawnstar's liberation, but first now we must settle the terms of their services"

"It is as you say commander, and for once I am keen to hear what you have to say, let us retire to my palace and speak of these things," said the lady, Ralof agreed much to Reynald's delight, all together they left the temple and started for the jarls own palace.

Though the day had came on, and the sun shown high in the sky to offer them a day resembling something like summer, Ralof could only think of how he could limit his danger this situation provided, "Empower one enemy to destroy the other" he muttered to himself, and started off towards the palace looming high in the distance.

* * *

><p>The smell of death was near; Aela had caught wind of it since she first ascended the high hills; which were the not quite mountaintops that lay on the western flank of Dawnstar, it was from here she was to survey the city that lay below, on the edge of sea that once led to the nordic homelands of ancient times. Here nothing lay save for some remnants of a long abandoned campground, a few rocky outcroppings to protect from the chilling northern winds, and the husk of a wolf that had long died in what was an icy open grave.<p>

Beyond the expanse of the hills; which would have been more impressive if not for the five impressive mounts that dotted Skyrim's landscape, Dawnstar lay in an open bay that once amounted to one of three vital ports between the nord nations northern trade route to the eastern High Rock and beyond, she could not quite see it however; as she lay behind a withering hut inside the ruin of the long dashed campsite.

From beyond the site came voices hoarse and skittered through the high winds, and one clearly to her honed ears shouted "find the fleshling, find the feast!", that voice belonged to one that did not mind the weather when on the hunt she suspected, and her response came with her freeing her hollowed birken-tree bow; with an arrow loose in hand.

Then up the steep incline of the hillside came five figures; bathed in furs and cloaks to protect against the howling winds that the night had brought on, but Aela looked at them through the sheen with only some small leathers and cloth covering her lithe figure; a huntress persisted in all weathers to catch her game.

As they came up to witness the camp; swords and axes alike naked in their ready hands, she pulled her arrow taut against the ancient bow she wielded and let fly an arrow, fierce enough to defy the winds and find the chest of the most forward member of the party.

Quickly she moved away with fleet footed speed to distance herself from the direction of the shot, and she looked from some twenty yards; behind another overturned hut that the man indeed lay dead with an arrow buried in his upper torso, the four around him found quickly that the arrow felled him from the flank of the camp and rushed forward.

Aela noted another arrow and with sublime skill loosed an arrow at the man to the rear of the charging four, and it caught him full in the left cheek so that he fell to the ground with a cry, the others quickly took to his side and saw that his wound came eastward of them.

"Surround that hut flank to flank, there's no survival over the cliff edge behind" one of the men; cloaked in a heavy dark cloak ordered, his two other companions rushed forward to do just that. One was near around the bend of the hut before Aela sprang fourth and with an arrow already pulled sent him to the void with an arrow that caught him clean through his gullet; numbly he clawed at his throat with blood pumping fourth from his mouth and his grievous wound.

"Die fetcher!" the other screamed, now behind the huntress and with a sword in hand, but Aela was quicker and dropped under his sword swing, and as it struck the arid ground her dirk had been removed from it's place at the small of her back to cut across his mid-section. But it seemed then that he was armoured with mail and brought his blade up to catch her in an upstroke, but the huntress easily side-stepped his stroke again and cleanly brought her wicked blade across his throat, leaving the poor man to fall down clutching with that same futility.

It had been but a second or so for the huntress to finish these two, but she only turned to finish the remaining one who looked on her from the centre of the campgrounds, she saw that he had removed his heavy cloak to show some strange robes; ashen coloured and very mage like, with a small broach on his left breast. He was a dark elf she could tell from the dark shine in his eyes, and he looked very old with a short cropped mane of hair and scarring that looked to represent his many trials in combat.

"Most impressive I must say. I think I'll enjoy seeing the fire drain from your eyes my dear" he said to her then, with a smile wide enough to let her catch sight of his fangs, in his hand was a dagger; laden with gold at the hilt and a serrated blade that screamed of being a torture weapon, Aela's own dirk felt like survival in her own.

She came forward though, into the openness of the central camp and forgot about any ideas of her bow and dealing him damage from her usual range, "Do you think you are enough to fell Aela the huntress, of those that dwell within the undying halls then foul creature?" she asked him, with more pride that insult, he began to set the pace; circling around to her left and then said to her fiendishly "I have fell beauties and beasts alike from the sands of the cats; to these lands of your fallen ancestors, your bow or your blade are no defence for you"

Aela stopped the circling then, and with a nod said "Perhaps you are right, these mere trinkets will not stop one so deadly as yourself, but perhaps I have something that will match your will." And with that Aela took her own blade and loosened her leathers, dropping off those and her cloth under in a practised fashion.

With interest the dark elf watched her reveal herself and took not a step forward or back, until she stood before him bare against his eyes, "Perhaps there is life for you yet" he said to her with an devilish grin upon his cruel face, but even crueller still was the smile upon Aela's as she said "For me yes, but not for you; wretched leech", with that she screamed in a way that was terrible and inhuman in the same sort, and from her fair skin and fiery locks came a mass of muscle and wild hair; all of it a mess as her body morphed to become a ravenous beast many times the size of even the tallest nord.

There was a mouth there too; filled with teeth to tear through armor in it's strongest or bone at it's thickest; and claws that where like dagger tips upon a five pronged blade. The vampire could not fathom that here now he would encounter a were wolf; and it availed him little to summon fire to his oft-hand while he pulled his blade with the other, for as soon as she rose the huntress turned creature of the night leapt forward; and with a ferocity unmatched dove into his flesh with her voracious hunger so that he became nothing more than flesh and bone to her.

It was the same for his lame companions also, and the one who had an arrow sticking from his face could only weep and expel at the sight of the creature tearing his once master to pieces, then she feasted on him, and then his comrades until the night then became subdued and quiet again; free of the sound of ripping flesh and the sickening pull of bones.

After the night then had passed into it's twilight, Aela finally took up her discarded clothes and made her way to the edge of the hillside, not but a drip off blood upon her as she did so, the carnage left behind her as she looked over the periphery onto the city that waited below.

There she found Dawnstar waiting; for the most part as she had always known it, a city that skirted the very edge of Skyrim on the sea front towards Atmora and the sea of ghosts. She saw that like her last visit to the city, it had not changed in at least it's build up, as on both side of the bay sat the wood and stone built districts that made up the cities housing for it's citizens still stood; tall and proud looking houses that where well afforded to keeping away the sea born chill. Also the city still held it's Jarl's longhouse upon a second level of buildings rowed along the inner of the cities half-moon like shape, around that most prominent house was also other buildings including the barracks; jail and offices of the hold and the temple of the divines in their entirety, while in front of these few buildings was a larger slope that were for the general carryings on of the city.

It included inns and taverns; smithies and fletchers along with trade houses and a large dock warehouse that stooped along into the bay, and previously all around this was a mess of a trading place filled with stalls and booths, that encompassed the city from the two rows on it's inner edge until it met the beginning of the bay; out onto the docksides planking and surrounding quay buildings.

Though it all still remained for the most; un-burnt or raided Aela could smell the changing of things, if she could not but see them clearly, for this was not a city content and prosperous; but a place that she could see was twisted and mad. Where once guards would patrol in heavy cloaks and fill themselves with warm liquors; instead there stood snarling beasts and vile spiders held by men who looked wicked themselves, unmoving and shadowy as they were.

Where forges would beat only in the daylight now came the fires of the forges throughout the night also, along with harsh voices and the beating of metals upon the many smithies that occupied one of the four quarters belonging to the cities market ground, there also from the pale moonlight she could make out hitching posts and one platform that had been turned into makeshift torture devices; as bodies now lay unmoving and festering among them.

The night also gave the city; in some parts lit up and in others in the complete darkness a look of ill omen, she could not quite remember the last time she looked upon a city so muted and unsettling. At the two approaches of the city also lay now a ramshackle of barricades. Made by carts and stakes large enough to deter a force overrunning them outright, such a thing would deter Reynald and his planned sweeping away of their defences in any case, he would have to be told before he committed to the battle.

She watched for a little while longer; looking over the city like a bird curious as to the doings of those that walked below, before resolving to make way and reach the path in which she discussed with Reynald to take. Then however there was the sounding of a ruckus below and soon from the darkened alleyways of the cities housing districts came a throng of people, destined it seemed for the western and eastern gates alike.

Some were being marched by men behind with clubs and axes, while others shuffled in front to avoid the wrath of these men, and soon all of them were marching forth from the city on both headings, despite the cries or protest and then harsh words to greet them.

Aela could not make heads or tails of it, for marching these people from the city seemed foolhardy, giving away hostages was perhaps a way to feed fewer mouths, but where would they march them? Into dykes and ditches to be butchered like unneeded cattle, it seemed unlikely given the little amount of guards in proportion to the number guarding them.

Aela resolved then that she could at least have an idea of what rested in Dawnstar; including spiders and feral wolves to compliment the few hundred men and women she had seen moving this way and that, it was now time to make way back to where she would catch Reynald upon the road. Then knowing she had to venture west she could see that it would be beneficial to discover the thought behind this new occurance.


	15. First Blood

Hey there, i've been busy for a long time so sorry about the delays my lurking friends!, i've decided to keep the dawnguard storyline as small as possible within the overall story so i should be able to knock it out within a few chapters, though i still wanted to go through it for the sake of seeing how Skyrim has fared and what not.

ANyway i hope you enjoy.

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><p>The pale was the only hold of Skyrim famed for having been taken by a force other than that of men or mer in the regions entire four eras of Skyrim's history, having been overrun by an invasion of snow creatures in the earliest years of the human dominance of the region. The reach had been of course been taken by the forsworn; in a well publicised insurrection ended by Ulfric Stormcloak, while Riften and Helgen had been sacked but not held – the latter only recently and the former during the onset of the fourth era.<p>

Reynald could see why no one but snow beasts could want to take this place, looking out upon the western plains of the hold, where there was nothing but snow drift kicking up like the great waves in the sea beyond the plains, the chill was endless. "This place is as barren as a hagraven" he told those assembled to his right and left, just before the end of the small; yet dense forest that was the only cover for the seven hundred or so men behind him, "Its places like this that remind us of what we nords are dragonborn, or at least where we come from. Hard and unyielding, from hardship and toil" Yohan replied with a hint of pride in his tone, indicating the weeping waters that lead far off into a storm caught horizon.

Ralof; who sat closest to Reynald on a golden windblood mount didn't agree and gave the veteran a queer look, telling the breton quietly "I'm from a village that is surrounded by large mountains and tall hills, I'm much better away from the coast I think." Reynald smiled and caught the look of Yohan who must have heard his words himself and smiled, the old veteran seemed to have as much vigour as their entire force combined, Reynald couldn't see him shiver once; even as he himself pulled his cloak around himself tighter.

The wait here, just before the plains that encompassed the approach to Dawnstar from the west was due to them waiting for Reynald's companion Aela, who he guaranteed would catch sight of them, even if they were cloaked (mostly) by the forestry around them.

Not that many of those behind him, currently dug into the frigid grounds of Skyrim's northern coast minded the wait, for the past two days had been nothing but marching; which had consisted of two long days passing firstly through the water logged swamps of Hjaalmarch, which included mudcrabs biting at their horses (which in turn caused their riders to be thrown) and their men falling into deep dykes that were submerged through the heavy rains.

The second day had involved the army marching through the half swamp-half forest regions on the cusp of the pale, with no forests like the one they now waited under to help fight the wet chill in their bones.

"There! Just beyond that small hilltop, before that mountainside" Glyfi, who was at the end of the line some ten strong said as he caught sight of something in the distance, and right he was as surely enough there came a figure; nimble and fleeting as they made their way towards the forested region, "String an arrow just in case" Ralof ordered, though Reynald was confident enough not to think about that.

Soon enough he was found to be right, as who came was his fellow companion moving swiftly across the flat terrain with some urgency, which unsettled the dragonborn enough, before she came up and told them with frosty breath "You're only a day late by my reckoning, as these lecherous creatures have already moved this past night beyond the pale. Two groups of them in the dozens, mobs of men and women driven by few of the actual vampires by the looks of things, a concerning disturbance given that they made no effort to resist even as they appeared free of their chief terror." The information visibly shook all those assembled; even Yohan who uselessly balled his fists in rage "These bloody cretins couldn't fight a true war even with all their skill in magicka and so called strength, bloody cowards!" he roared, loud enough to shake the ranks behind, gaining attention and perking the men up as they had looked to loosen up.

"We need to take action and quickly" Ralof insisted with more than a little panic in his tone, "You must send your cavalry to find this new threat and quickly" he told Reynald, who held a more calming approach to this news, if only slight enough to keep his voice passive "If we send away all our horsemen we'll have lost an advantage within the town, first we must know; what strength do you see in the city?" he asked Aela, who lacked any news of worth "They keep everyone locked up in the city it seems, so that it appears that it has been abandoned. I cannot even guess what sort of strength resides within, except that the they could not have sent all the inhabitants away west or south."

That was enough for Yohan, and indeed every other commander there who pulled their spears from the ground; or their swords from their belts, but before the clamour Reynald told them "We must deal with the menace that is currently beyond the city, or we'll allow the spread of this panic beyond the pale. Someone who is confident enough to engage a vampire; perhaps even more than one, we'll need someone who knows the roads as well, as we don't know their destination."

From the assembled men one trotted forward, on a white stallion that was like his being pristine and gallant, the white rider of Wayrest Zaric who had ridden at the behest of his queen in the terms to Reynald's uneasy peace. In his hand was the long spear which he had used in his singular combat with the dragonborn himself; with its three foot long razor sharp point given a menacing quality in the fresh morning light. At his hip was the sword he had been gifted by the dragonborn at that same encounter, and his body was covered by only a simple white robe covering a mithril cuirass.

Ralof like the nords thought he looked like a knight in quaint old tales told by High Rock nobles to lull their children to sleep, while the bretons rightly feared what such a practised hand could with such a piercing weapon against their plated armours, but all the same he confidently said "I will go and chase down these vampires; and slay how many of them that I find if you so wish, though I do not know these roads" not a word was hesitant the captains noted, "Then take as many horsemen as you need and Glyfi if he can be spared, along with his scouts so that you may better cover the roads" Reynald replied with ease, confidant that the slender yet skilled warrior could deal with the threat presented, "I do hope your right about this" Ralof mentioned as the white rider turned and went to collect his men, Reynald merely waved away his concern.

"There is more to a warrior than the size of his weapon, or whether he be a behemoth or a willowy thing" the dragonborn insisted, perturbed that he himself was not stocky when considered next to those nords around him, "if Zaric is even a quarter of the warrior I know he is, then he shall be three times what you think of him. Now the fate of Dawnstar remains before us, and we must decide how we shall approach it and assault."

Ralof realised he couldn't think of another to take the white warriors place, given his troops inexperience so that all his commanders were needed, neither would he have entrusted such an important thing to Agnar for his rashness (with his name being Stone-Fist) or Glyfi for his lack of true prowess within battle, "Let us decide upon how best to accomplish dislodging these vampires then" He said to Reynald with the beginning of adrenaline surging through his core, always before a battle whether it be a skirmish or a true engagement of thousands.

The dragonborn was simple in thought with regards to things, "The city has two entrances, and I can only assume we will have the way of numbers, these creatures cannot organise and recruit like any army of men or mer. You take your infantry into the teeth of them, through the city to the market place so that you can encircle the entire place from the port to the higher two levels resting on the mountains side. I'll take my men around the mountain and attack from the other approach; since you'll have already engaged them, with their flank to me I can charge in and devastate their ranks, they'll scatter like skeevers from a well warmed pot." Galien who was commander of the bretons nominally agreed, as did Yohan and Agnar almost immediately, "You will need to draw them out before you can properly charge them down" Aela noted, something game enough for his weaker infantry it seemed.

He agreed and gathered his small guard of bodyguards about him, along with his more minor captains and experienced heads, all were told of the plan all the way back through the forests, along to the militia who were there as archers to keep them from the thick of the fighting, "You'll attack from the hills on the west face of the city" Ralof had commanded, with Reynald promising Aela to assisting with their composure and targeting within what was to be confined city streets.

Then Reynald was off through the plain with his armoured horsemen behind, swerving in eastward to cut across a roadway so not to give away sight of themselves to Dawnstar itself, soon enough Ralof would follow and start of the battle of Dawnstar, a fight in a city Reynald hoped would end with a resounding victory for the nords, rather than some long drawn out bloody affair.

He feared that such a thing wouldn't be possible however, as vampires to Reynald, unlike the majority of those fighting to liberate Dawnstar were not some horrible creatures in the periphery of Skyrim's darkest corners; or beasts of foul legends, but a real and present memory for him, ingrained into his mind as his most horrific of his campaigns within his time as a legionnaire, it had left a lasting impression on just how brutal these creatures could be; and why he needed to lend aid to Skyrim now.

These memories where of the Bloodmouth campaign, which had started after a legendarily brutal vampire clan of Khajiti had incited riots throughout what cusp the empire still held in the desert lands of the cat people, the last imperial fort held there had been known as Redmarch before the harrowing effigy to how far the empire had fallen; and Bloodmouth after, the title being given for the horrible effects of that cult poisoning the stream that had ran through the camp.

Many dozens of legionnaires had died, many of whom Reynald had known from his first days as a recruit, but all the same pulled on the reins of his horse as they began to finish the past towards Dawnstars eastern approach, feeling the nerves once again make him shift uneasy in his saddle.

He chided himself for that though; it was never acceptable for a soldier to head into battle with thoughts like hesitation, that said he lifted his spear, and on the banks of a ford leading to the bottle neck that lead to Dawnstar he shouted "We may not be of this land, but I have been called as protector once again to the people of Skyrim. You have all sworn your sword and spears to me, now let us show these vampires the measure of our skill!" With those brave words and a flourish of his spear Reynald took point in the encirclement of Dawnstar, with all his armoured horsemen following behind him like a great flurry of navy standards and spears, coupled with polished steel and irons to give a look of brilliance and imposing force.

They came over the hill to a sun already raised, shining brightly as they came to look down upon Dawnstar as liberators, battle already greeted them as the cries of battle sounded in the streets of the city below them, but it was not as Reynald nor his men had expected, infact it was so shocking that they halted their on the steep rise of Dawnstar's eastern approach.

They did not see, from their vantage of the hill some force of vampires; bloodthirsty and raging going against the stormcloak army pouring into the city, nor was it anything of the creatures they had been reported to have been marching for the city, "What is this madness?" Galien asked to his side, as he too saw that the city was filled with what looked to be its own citizens, armed and battling against the stormcloaks.

"I don't know" Reynald replied in a shock, looking as men and women; young and olf, frail and powerful fiercely attacked what should have been their liberation – in a town no less that was set ablaze in both it's districts, with flames rising on either flank; through to it's inner corridor which contained markets and warehouses and all things vital for the town. Only those buildings that stood at the highest ledge had escaped the fires, a pitiful amount given this place was a home to more than a thousand.

"By the divines, those are townsfolk fighting against us" Galien said to Reynald's right, dumbfounded and wide eyed beneath his half helm as he looked down upon the city streets; now filled with stormcloaks and what looked like the citizens of the city, fighting near to the bare ground rather than the flaming innards, "what do we do?" he asked his leader, seemingly at a loss.

The dragonborn could not blame him; for he did not truly know himself, if he charged down that hill with all the force of his men behind him…then those before who fought so fiercely against their own liberators wouldn't be alive to liberate, it looked like Ralof's men knew that also, as only a few looked to do anything more than pull behind a loose shield wall as the oncoming townsfolk raged against them – not even the archers had the will to let loose.

If they didn't do something then Ralof's men would be pushed straight back out of the city and Dawnstar itself would be burnt to the ground, another Helgen in another war forced upon Skyrim, but could he decide that bricks and mortar meant more than those they had come to liberate?

"I do not know how we can salvage this without inflicting grevious wounds upon the people here" he told Galien in a tone resembling dismay, he could not use what knowledge he had of the arcane to pacify all of those beneath him, if any more than handful – It would take perhaps a shout to disarm or disable these people in great enough swaths for the stormcloaks to overpower them, "Fear, Run Terror" he thought a moment later, "Follow me in behind at a few paces!" he ordered Galien with a hopeful shout. "But do not turn your spears on them; save for dire need." Then Reynald whipped up his horse and flew down the hill, Galien and those behind followed.

Racing down the hill with his spear in hand; Reynald bellowed for those before to come at him, a war cry that with not one citizen near failed to accept the, a testament to how altered these people's perceptions where, to dare face any horseman head on from a rush of such advantage, untrained and ill armed.

Near on one hundred men and women; some old and young with all manner of weapons ran at the dragonborn as if to cut him from the saddle, but as he descended and got close he called upon his thu'um, which came forward as a thunderclap "Faas Ru Maar!", which was forceful and compelling; enough so that those same people who had came on so lustily turned and fled, throwing aside weapons and armours as if all the terrors of oblivion had been shown to them.

It was but a fraction of the swarming numbers pressed not so far from Reynald not to give him concern, he held up his hand to call his men on to advance, "What are we doing?" Galien asked with his men rushing down the hill, but staying wisely before the dragonborn – who tottered some fifty yards behind the flank of those who were enraptured, crushing against the flagging stormcloaks, "Let me think" Reynald replied, turning away from the testy look Galien gave him; looking around to catch any sign of what had turned the town against them.

He saw nothing save flames and desecration, blood pooled between buildings that above were cooking with flames, but Reynald noted the amount of townsfolk still alive; there was hardly a great slaughter here in order for the town to capitulate.

"Forget the townsfolk, retreat if you need to but try to hold here" Reynald ordered before turning off towards the seabanks, pushing past buildings now turning to husks by whoever had been malicious enough to fire them. There after a large storehouse he saw many of those he had made flee, one who was cowering behind a fruit stand saw what appeared to be a terror only known to his wildest nightmares. He turned and made to run from Reynald, but the dragonborn easily caught him in the shoulder blade with an ice spike that effectively disabled him.

Reynald leapt off his horse before the man; who whimpered and tried to pull away as Reynald turned him over, sword in hand the dragonborn gave him a deathly stare and growled "Tell me who has twisted your mind and I'll let you live." Harsh words, cruel even given the effect of his thu'um being so terrifyingly effective, but he didn't have time for niceties.

With another whimper, the young man said "Lord Vingalmo…he took the jarl…told us we where his servants now…we couldn't resist…didn't want to resist." Reynald drew back his sword to strike "Where is he!" he shouted, the man told him he'd taken up residence in the longhouse of the jarl.

Satisfied he cracked the man across his jaw with his pommel, turning away and remounting his horse, "Reynald! We have a problem" Galien said coming behind him quickly, "We have new enemies; spiders, zombies and skeletons. People too, nords in heavy armour, elves and lighter armed men as well." Reynald turned, whipped up his horse and sped back out onto the main ground of Dawnstar, empty between the last rung of house before the outcropping that held the main structures and the burning markets, he had a clear view on the hill they had just descended.

"The stormcloaks are retreating" one soldier called out, and true enough all could see the townsfolk rush against the broken stormcloaks, Ralof having given up the challenge already it seemed. To their left however was something else entirely. An army unlike any standing in Skyrim, it was made up of spiders great and small, all of them festering with poison and diseases , there were also shambling zombies , skeletons heaving broadswords and even some hulking trolls, men and horse alike began to unsettle.

There too was a number of nords; some clothed in corselets of rugged iron, bracers and plate, breastplates of soiled iron and steel hulking double handed swords and hammers; axes and staves. A another lot were lightly armed for archers work, while in behind a small rank of strangely robed men and mer alike stood, mage staffs or spells ready to be cast, "Ready a charge." Reynald ordered without a hint of hesitation. His sword almost called to him, as he readied his spear and shield, blood flowing as he saw these creatures and strange men flowing down into the level ground of the city.

Good, he knew as he raised his spear and his men went to a steady build up off pace, had Ralof knew he needed to draw the enthralled people away he wondered? If he did he was a genious, but he wondered not as the first arrows began to fall; one straight into the iron filling of his shield, "Slaughter them!" he barked before whipping up his horse.

They charged then, dozens of armoured horsemen across the level plain that their mounts made little work off, but he was wondering what shout to muster, for if he disarmed those behind the vile creatures in front would not falter, nor would those behind receive anything more than an after-effect of most; if not all of his thu'um.

As he pressed forward he kept it simple and pure, "_Fus Ro Dah_" was the single sharp uttering that sent the spiders, skeletons and zombies flailing back into the ranks of those behind, overturning the men and mer in behind who cried out in surprise.

There were dozens of each sort of these foes before the charging force crushed into them with spears flying or being lanced into man or beast, on came Reynald and Galien with aplomb so that a twentieth of their force died in all their sorts before they recovered.

The carnage was as maddening as Reynald or his captain had ever seen it; with their horses bowling over foes like they where nothing, Reynald; as always at the heart of things had buried his spear into the neck of one armoured nord who raised his sword to late, before blanketing two others in fierce flames that sent them recoiling even with their heavy armour as protection, one archer from the left flank fired an arrow but the breton nimbly ducked it; pulling his sword free as he recovered and then buried it into the claw of a great spider that had brought itself back into the fray.

To his left was Galien with his mace and sword, made for the butchers work as he pounded with his mace left and thrust with his sword opposite, always he stayed close with others designed to be the dragonborn's bodyguard, fierce as they went they could soon see an opening to the flank of the creatures massing.

Sword hot in hand Reynald was aflame like the city around him slaying a spider this way with a thrust while slashing a skeleton apart in another instant, flames and frost alike spewed from his shield had as he lifted it for his magicka to come fourth, recoiling before him he shouted, "Cut through them!" kicking on his horse as he went.

Firing more bursts of fire and frost into the ranks before him, Reynald urged on his horse, some ten men followed him through. It was now though that Reynald got a taste of those who wore those robes with the single pin upon their breasts, with one lunging forward; seemingly in three motions at once to slide a blade cleanly through the neck of his mount, try as he did he could not land a stroke on the dark elf, while his horse fell forward and spilled him from the saddle.

Many things happened at once then; he turned and with his shield still in hand hand fired a shock current at the offending dunmer, while Galien and those behind him where attacked by a fearsome troll, in a fury and strong enough to knock his captain from the saddle. The spattering of magicka kept the dunmer away; allowing Reynald to roll backwards. He pulled himself up before blocking a knife strike from another armoured mer, this time a bosmer in light mail and jerkin of a rustic sort.

The elf was too hasty by far though, aiming another swipe even as Reynald nimbly leapt back, his stroke missed and Reynald's had cut through the slight elves neck before his swing was completed. Thinking he had a moment Reynald looked around him, only to be caught by one of those warriors in a light grey linen robe, snarling the dunmer came from his sword bearing side to cut his wielding arm free with a jagged orcish short sword, but Reynald was able to twist and catch the strike with his shield; ratting as he did so, before he lunged forward and cut the lightly armoured foe up the middle in a gory dismemberment.

Behind Galien pulled himself from the ground by the hand of another, who was then pulled backwards and tossed into a nearby rock pile by a rampaging troll, the captain turned to run but he was caught, falling forward as a sword beat against the junction of his knee, only two other soldiers were around him; fending off their own enemies.

Reynald pulled what strength he knew of destruction and fired a focused blast of lightning into the eyes of the man that had downed Galien; leaping forward then to bury his sword into the trolls face, then blood and gore coated his own as the creatures head caved in a mess - his blade was removed with difficulty.

The skirmish around them was spread out now, with his men looking to have fallen in greater numbers than he'd like; though spiders and skeletons as well as zombies and thralls had fallen in equal numbers of each sort also, but those who held the mage staffs and casters; vampires he deducted had only fallen in numbers of near a dozen perhaps.

Blood pouring from his injured knee, cheek and elbow Galien ushered Reynald away as more creatures took notice of them, "We must retreat to the hills behind" he insisted with only his sword held loosely, his soldiers too were beginning to pull away their wounded, in small groups of a dozen here or there down into the burning townspace.

Skeletons rushed to the duo from their flank, but Reynald blasted them with lighting before cutting a trio down who had gotten close, turning then to cast a spell of enemies' bane into Galien; which diminished his injuries, "Our men are falling back, we're behind these horrible blood suckers, but I cannot face a retreat." More enemies turned on them then, spiders followed by skeletons who where commanded this way by those holding the mage staffs, laughing manically it seemed behind their minions.

Reynald believed that they expected him to blast away fodder; perhaps to leave them with an easy kill, given that there were more than dozen of these bloodsuckers, even without their thralls to guard them they were easily the most fearsome of the entire brood..

He did the thing which he had wished not to, a thing that would have brought even more destruction upon the town; if it had yet stood before him without plumes of smoke rising high above the burning residencies and market buildings alike.

"Hold your sword high" he said to Galien at his side, before turning to the clear sky, shouting in his booming thu'um "_Od Ah Viing._" Something that was not instantaneous like his other presentations of power, not a spider flew not a skeleton burst into flames, in fact it was such a waste to those that looked on the dragonborn and his captain; standing taller now that they laughed and ushered their beasts on.

Then the call was returned, a howling now since heard by any vampire nor their minions, but it was familiar to Reynald who shouted; in his own voice now "_Hon Ul Od Ah Viing. _Slay those you see assaulting me and my _Mun._" Yet another resounding growl followed and the vampires faltered.

Their doom became clear then, from the southern skies, booming across the mountain top was a dragon; as vast as the longest ship to have been built and red-golden scaled, razor sharp armour protected him head to tail, and nigh impenetrable it was to Reynald's knowledge.

"_Toor Shul…Dovahkiin!" _was his shout that shook the ground and boomed throughout the sky, a harrowing thing for those who had never felt such a thing before, even Galien to Reynald's side seemed to falter if only for a moment, before he saw the great beast turn to pass against the vampires and their minions who had pooled upon the hillside opposing them.

"These vampires are going to realise the terror of my friend Winged Snow Hunter, bane of the north" Promised the dragonborn, and soon it was true, for on came Odahviing with a reckless fury that only Reynald could withstand, fire and frost burst from the maw of the dragon – enveloping the zombies, skeletons, spiders and trolls in a rapture for those soldiers pursued.

Upon the mount opposing the vampires who gathered conjured spells and guardians, attempting to bring low the dragon as it passed with a shriek, none noticed then that Reynald had gathered his strength and came forward, closing the distance between the opposing groups while casting spells of protection upon himself as he went.

The vampires could not tear themselves away from the dragon that turned to sweep upon them even as Reynald finally closed in, his blade landing a mighty stroke on one who was buried into the ground with a sickening crunch, another lost his head from the neck below as the dragonborn gave a furious following swing, while Galien gutted another with a powerful thrust to the chest.

Reynald did not stop to fight the rest but pushed through and onto what remained of Dawnstar's untarnished buildings, Galien following behind and all the happier for striking down one of the vampires who'd down his men such terrible damage, none could follow of course – for on came Odahviing who looked to end the vampires in one final swoop.

He buried himself into the ranks of the undead; splintering bodies and weapons like they were nothing but leaves in the wind, the dovankiin meanwhile neared the jarl's longhouse, a building of three stories which stretched far and a ways back, simple looking fare of nordic architecture.

"Where else could this lord Vingalmo or whatever be but the jarls place. These creatures are always power hungry dolts. Ready yourself" Reynald told Galien, before he rendered the heavy door from its hinges with two blasts of lighting, finally slamming it forward with a blast of fire.

Beyond the smoke crisp doorway, was the main innards jarls longhouse; which held all the entry's to the rooms beyond the long throne room that was set in every city known to Skyrim, there at the far end of the entirely wooden room was the dais of the jarl's seat of power, usually unobstructed to give a view of he or she who held it.

There now was the ripped standards of Dawnstar's jarl; thrown low beside the throne that now held the surely lifeless body of old jarl Skald, his head bowed as if in thought yet with closed eyes and blood staining his neck, Reynald only saw this through a device of some strange design – pulsating with energy in an oscillating bubble that Reynald recognised as illusion magicka.

At the rear of the device; cyan blue with runes running from its bulbous head to spindly frame, was an altmer of some ancient age, if his ruinous face or hauntingly stony skin was an impression. From his gauntleted fists; clenched to the device there was chainmail running to the blood red velvet over cloak he wore, concealing a hauberk or similar protection underneath the dragonborn guessed.

Yet he saw no open weapon on the high born, a sure sign of extreme aptitude in the arcane.

At attention before him were two guards clad in quilted linen robes overlaid with metal pins and rivets that connected in a 'V' across their chests, more mail was along their arms as well as darkly polished greaves and gauntlets, while they held death masks upon their faces; of scowling creatures was fangs protruding around their jaw line.

One held a three pronged spear in hand of about 8 foot while the other had two short blades ready in hand, Reynald thought the three together looked to be a fearsome trio, remedying that he called out "_Wuld!_" as his thu'um regained some of its potency.

Surging forward as a tempest would Reynald gave the spear wielding bodyguard not a second; slamming his shield into the death mask with an 'uppercut' that had enough momentum to have blood pumping from the fell warriors face as he landed heavily, his spear however felt a good weight in Reynald's hand, he eased it easily to drive a thrust home upon his fellow.

Owing to the surprise of the sudden attack the altmer could barely cry out for his guards to attack, his hands pulled apart from the device and its surrounding intensity failed almost instantaneously, leaving only enough time for Reynald to realise he could not dislodge the spear from the felled guard, nor toss his sword at the altmer to any great effect.

He cast a well needed shielding spell just as the mage attempted a fightback, casting torrents of lighting at the dragonborn and Galien who had foolishly thought this was his time to enter the fight, Reynald's own weapon flew from his hand and he was sent struggling back by the force of the attack, Galien however crashed into the wall of the longhouse with enough effect to render him unconscious.

Blood rushed to his ears as Reynald poured what energy he could into resisting the attack, exerting himself fully to cast one encompassing shield spell in his left hand while his right cast an even more draining reflection spell, the elf didn't have time to cast any protection spells himself after all.

This lord Vingalmo saw too late the casting and shrieked as his hands where numbed near to non feeling as his own magicka mirrored upon himself, not enough to kill him yet enough to stagger him back.

Reynald took the chance to close the distance between the pair before throwing a brutal haymaker that near broke the elves jaw, a risky attack made sweet by the mage tumbling near head over heels as the punch landed, Reynald imagined his gauntlet would leave a bad impression.

He vaulted the device even in his armours, glad that he was free of obstruction of the heavier sort, Vingalmo didn't appear to be so glad however, "Are you enjoying this?" he asked through a sneer as blood pulsed down his cheek, Reynald didn't reply but instead advanced to finish the altmer.

Vingalmo wasn't done, he cast a telekensis spell on a sword attached to the jarl's own battle rack and it came at Reynald like a thrown dagger, only avoided enough so that the blade cut along his shoulder and arm; piercing his chainmail and denting upon his trim fitting cuirass.

Struggling to stay standing Reynald threw out a shield of actual energy to combat the second sword that he managed to nimbly sidestep, before the shield of the ensemble impacted against his shield; knocking him back over the strange device and unto his back.

"Still enjoying it!" he heard the altmer crow as he picked himself up, Reynald only thought about the sound of the dragon slamming again against the ground out in the streets, "Hear that? That's a dragon tearing your blood letting dogs to pieces" he replied while he conjured a sabre from the realms of oblivion, curved, weightless and always deadly.

Vingalmo came at him then even as the space was intersected by the huge device, but Reynald countered him with a shout he'd not wished to use to best this creature, "_Fus" _was but a token utterance that was enough to knock the vampire back and off-balance, exactly enough for Reynald to leap the device and drive a strike through Vingalmo's gut.

Now he had his blade into his enemies gut; with his free hand holding him in an embrace he asked with vengeance in his voice "You blood suckers are meant to be invincible. Timeless as the ages themselves, now I find myself with my blade in your gut", he jagged the blade in just a little further, feeling the elf roll with the movement of his unnaturally keen blade, "With someone as skilled as you…you need to let them get a bit close" was what Vingalmo told him, a moment before he felt a jab in his arm even through the mail there.

Vingalmo with what little fight he had left had pierced his skin with a small pointer, barely a blade all things considered, Reynald ignored it and went to tear his own blade free as so much cruetly as he could muster, but then the filthy creature cast a final; encompassing spell.

It was a recall spell, Reynald couldn't be more furious as the Elf managed to free himself of his blade, he banished it away before he tossed it at the nearest thing to him, the murdering lecher had gotten away!

All he could do was pull free the small prick from his arm, a small blade handled blade no more than the length of his arm…yet at it's miniscule point he saw not only the colour of his own blood but the remnants of a black substance – pungent and outright offending to his nose as he caught the scent.

"Poison" he muttered in disappointment, knowing he'd played with the idea of hurting the elf.

A cold sweat broke out across his skin while at the back of his throat he felt a sickly feeling like nothing he could ever remember, a moment later and he was on the floor, lying down but with enough vision to see the old jarl cast down upon his throne.

He was gone seconds later, eyes closed with his hands releasing their tension.

In the days to follow all that could be done was for mages and healers; wherever they could be found to keep regenerating what little life they could, but not one man that came could either remedy or diagnose such rampant poisons, only those who dealt in the vile arts of poison and murder by such methods knew how.

The streets wailed and fumed in equal measure, the vampires had slain the saviour of Skyrim.


	16. The Alik'r is Riotous

Hey, this chapter is going to be a third person pov, just trying to get some experience doing different sorts of character perception so hopefully the story doesn't suffer for it, thanks for following.

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><p>Graynar didn't like this.<p>

He didn't think anyone of the soldiers did, stood in a loosely ranked massing under a hazy lilac-green night sky, thankfully free from both a strong chill and soaking rainfall common at this time of season. All eyes there looked on at the foreboding sight that was Windhelm, the heart of the Stormcloak movement.

A mighty castle that stood as high king Ulfric's seat of power; it was a city matched by few others, as grim and imposing as it was lofty and impressive to all those that peered across from the opposing bank. It had thick walls that were mounted with great beasts revered by the hardy nords of the east, such as the like of dragons and lions, falcons and big cats, which encompassed the entire city across many lengths in every direction of where it lay. A barbican some many dozen feet thick was the chief point of entry for any army hoping to assault it, that having a gateway of thick wood protected by a now ancient iron portcullis that could be thrown up to deny any force with the mind to assault the city.

The old hand felt it something resembling irony of the gods themselves that those same staunch defences now stood against the high king and his ambitions for restoring their pantheon, but when he looked in those ranks around him he saw that men here and there thought more of what horror awaited them if they attempted to breach the city.

He could see it in the green boy beside him as he fidgeted with his halfhelm, or in the weary eyes of a man some five or ten years his own senior, trying to grasp at any sight upon the battlements through a gaze long since reduced by the long span of his years.

His own eyes were not so bad that he could not make out some small movement there on top of the dark stones that amounted to nigh impassable fortifications, to assault the bridge itself meant that a small force of defenders could focus upon resisting them with minimal effort, while they had neither the boats nor the siege equipment to traverse the river and open up a wider attack.

Yet even if they had river boats; ladders or climbing spikes, Graynar could see throughout the ranks of the common man that there was no will for a bloody assault, and despite what any dim witted nobles thought each and every siege was a bloody affair – at least in Graynar's experience. Men around him were too young to be bloodied enough to climb over a wall while men from above threw down rocks or loosed arrows, and he'd couldn't imagine how quickly they'd break if spells or fire was added to the occasion, that wasn't mentioning so many of those there who looked unable to do so if even if they could remember how to swing a sword.

A poor showing for what to be Ulfric's judgement upon those that had taken his ancestral home, only those horsed in front looked ready for a real challenge.

They of course included Ralof of Riverwood the one time bodyguard turned city commander, who now held the charge of taking back the city of kings to restore king Ulfric's honour, if indeed the honour of the stormcloak movement in its entirety.

Though If he was worried he did not appear to be so, sitting on chestnut mount with a fair but stony expression any time Graynar could catch a look of him, surrounded by twelve similarly armed and grim looking guards and captains, amongst them the great beast of a man Yohan stood out, while Graynar knew of Clan Stone-Fist's first born there within the ranks also.

No dragonborn there of course; nor his armoured men nor companions, all of them attending what would be the most heart wrenching funeral procession in Skyrim's history, the saviour of man slowly dying by poison of the hands of an altmer vampire, every time he thought it the bile threatened to rise in his throat.

Slain by a high elf vampire, it was enough to shake Graynar into thinking – for the very first time that the stormcloaks didn't have enough momentum to actually overthrow the empires hold on Skyrim, indeed now with two whole legions assaulting the foot of their homeland, not to mention the vampires and even the seizing of Windhelm, he was sure all of Skyrim wondered with him.

That said he knew they must move on or be destroyed as traitors, and the commander by him was alright, older men grumbled that he was too green; not bloodied enough to command the relief effort, but he'd known to turn and retreat in Dawnstar – giving Reynald the chance to break the vampires hold upon the innocent citizens turned minions. Men of the age to have seen more than the great war often thought they were entitled to more, or knew more than men that came after and received command.

However all the same Ralof had saved a bloody battle between his men and the innocents under the sway of the vampire Vingalmo, his men could only follow his lead as good soldiers should.

If he was to be the man that led them to victory or defeat, it mattered little as the heavy gates of Windhelm began to recede, Graynar tightened his hand around the long handled axe he held in his left hand, while his long shield gave him some comfort strapped to his off-hand.

There marching from the gates, the enemies of Skyrim's new high king came. Remarkably they were in all redguard and dunmer; armoured from both the armouries of the city and the more exotic sorts brought with them from their own homelands. There was good steel there; thick plate and light mail, axes and hammers along with swords and spears, in all fabricated and designed in the fashion of the nordic styles. There also was the strange armours of the dunmeri homelands; bonemold and netch, chitin and even some glittering glass armours. It suited them for it all was all light and easily woven, their weapons however were not greatly varied, redguards and dunmer alike wielded those of the cities armouries with few of their own distinct crafting, especially as those of the Alik'r had always been that of steel and iron, yet their armours were not as fantastical as the dunmer – they for the most only wore linens and overlapping mantles, relying as they always had on shields and helmets, greaves and light guards to protect them in battle.

They began to cause a great stir with the drums and horns they had pilfered from the hall of the kings, barrelling the drums while horns rang out all across the huge battlements behind. The men of Skyrim for all their talk of being the finest human warriors could not question the fierce look of the redguards, who had shoulders like those of trolls yet looked as supple as saber cats. Nor did the dark elves with their fierce countenance and magics licking at their palms fail to cause discord,

Here they had this rabble to oppose them, a miserable thing Graynar thought, "Who leads this army!" Ralof shouted with defiance in his voice, not showing one shade of fear even as these interlopers marched on as if to attack him outright, though they went not any farther than the midpoint of the bridge, then splitting their ranks to allow a party of horsemen to pass through.

There it seemed was the leader of this strange band, and what a leader he was Graynar thought, leading a small troop of horsemen forward of both redguards and dunmer alike, a conspicuous figure who in coming upon them caught every gaze. He was a redguard of some enormous span; towering over any man and many orcs if any could guess. And his face too was fierce as any stone effigy as Graynar had seen of those dark gods of oblivion, with eyes as brazen and of promising malice as he'd found of the most bloody eyed dunmeri.

On his head was a triple curved headdress of flushed rubies and golden hawk feathers, and he wore a warring golden-red robe of Alik'r silk riveted by jewels of sapphire and emerald, overlapped with gold flushed mail adjoined at the sides by straps of silver.

This was all clasped together at his waist by a magnificent lion head belt clasp; and slung at his shoulder was a great yew bow with many ebony tipped arrows, yet the most fearsome sight was a long heavy trident halberd that glistened in the pale moonlight.

He looked fantastic to Graynar, to Ralof and his captains, the whole army and world if they could see him. Even his horse looked proud and eager, big boned and as fine a breed as Graynar had ever seen, so that even with that strapping man above it slumped not an inch nor fretted beneath its auburn coat.

"I am Lathar Maurion, loyal imperial subject" his voice powering and booming so that it seemed to strike across the two valleys, his gaze settling upon Ralof as he looked at those amassed before him "I have taken this by the order of general Tullius and on behalf of his majesty, the late emperor Titus Mede and nis soon to be crowned heir." He said before producing the paper from beneath his clashing robe as if to offer the validity of his point, "You would do well to turn your army; if this lot is even fit to be called that, lest I send you all to Sovngarde before your due time."

Graynar heard the words, saw the gleam of a beast lurk behind the eye of this redguard who had claimed Windhelm, and he could not bring himself to shout out in defiance, to bang his axe and shield and call for his head. He was not so old that he could not swing the axe or thrust true with a sword, yet this Lathar Mathias was a man beyond his reckoning, those too around thought the same it seemed; for all sound had went out of the army.

All save for Ralof of Riverwood, "This is the ancestral lands of high king Ulfric Stormcloak and no longer an imperial territory" Ralof argued with enough fight in his voice to let Graynar know he'd not willingly walk away without a battle, "If you throw down your arms now and leave the city, I will spare your lives" the small town native added a moment later, as if to avoid an all out battle, yet Lathar regarded him with contempt, "I'll not bow down against you and these poor offerings you call soldiers. Instead I'd rather mount your head on a pike on the walls!" Then he heaved up his long blade and looked to offer Ralof on, yet the commander did not have the chance to go forward.

There was another brash enough to make an attempt by his own hand, eager for the glory of slaying Lathar and the fame it would grant him "Land of my fathers, his forefathers and sons before them!" came the roar from Agnar of house Stone-Fist, "You shall not stay a moment longer!" he roared as his great sword came off his back, charging for glory.

His challenge was readily met by lusty Lathar; who came forward and pulled his blade forward to impale Agnar as he came, they met when the halberd struck out and Agnar brought his great sword down to divert the strike. It was however a powerful strike and though Agnar done enough to avoid the lancing blow, it was aimed low for his abdomen so that hecould only awkwardly parry; his blade glancing wide being his punishment.

Lathar took advantage and slung his blade overhead and into a downward stroke that would have cleaved Agnar down the middle, but the youth was able to bring his blade up enough so that it was his own blade impressing it's keen edge into his steel pauldron, rather than his enemies halberd decapitating him outright.

The halberd wouldn't budge save for Lathar's desire, Agnar vainly attempted to push off yet it was only when Lathar dislodged – and then struck out again that Agnar could bring his blade to bear. A fair indication of how it went for the next few strokes, Lathar and his halberd was too fearsome a combination; and Agnar was sorely outmatched as Lathar overwhelmed him with strokes made near impossible with such a hefty weapon.

Swift as he was Lathar could only lead Agnar into a mistake; and he did so by brazenly leaving his guard open as a stroke of his was glanced off by Agnar, the youth took the bait and launched his sword forward in a hasty one handed stroke that Lathar anticipated – swept under – and with one powerful grip pulled the heir to clan Stone-Fist from his saddle.

Strong hands encased in ebony gauntlets; inlaid with silver and gold, grabbed the wolf styled steel of Agnar's own; a fitting irony for the struggle of this bashful stormcloak against the lavish redguard, and when he was pulled from the saddle all that weighty armour caused him to crash down hard and sure enough there was blood pouring from his face as he crumpled there.

_Watch the enemy and his weapon both_ Graynar thought as his two hustled forward to pull Agnar into their midst, the personal battle won it seemed by the overwhelming redguard, yet the son of king Ulfric's own chief commander was not to be let go so easily, another came to challenge.

Having allowed Agnar the chance to prove his honour, and having yet failed Yohan thundered from his place at Ralof's side "Your well and good fighting young boys to prove your mettle! Tell me O bastard of the Alik'r, could you fight a skilled son of SKyrim?" was the question posed by a hoary headed man of beyond six and two, eclipsing most men in both age and prowess.

His blood up Lathar looked at the aged warrior with pure disdain, "Boys and old men, is this all the great king Ulfric has to offer?" he laughed, but Yohan only bristled at that and lofted his sword high, "You city stealing rat! You think to despite me because of my age? You may find my head hoary, yet I think you'll find my sword, keen enough."

At that Yohan urged forward his steed, flashing his great sword in hand as he went, the two chargers met and then a real combat was fought. Yohan with his sword was the match of Lathar's halberd, for all his speed and strength Yohan was the match of it, sword whirling as if weightless. Lathar thrusted and slashed at Yohan's own three foot great sword, attempting to savage his defences without care of Yohan's deft skill.

"The old general is a man beyond those half his age!" that same green boy said to his side, amazed that the man who had overwhelmed and disposed of a young fit man in his prime like Agnar only moments before was being matched by a general of some three times his age.

They managed some twenty blows without a victor to either, from saddleback they battled without their steeds being pulled or urged on, then Yohan saw that those redguards had began to hussle Agnar down the bridge.

He couldn't have allowed it; he faked a stroke at Lather then whipped his horse further onto the bridge as his opponent made to block what he'd found to be a powerful stroke, "Why do you run from me into another sort of doom!" he shouted as Lathar got within reach of those pulling Agnar away.

Graynar nor his commanders nor his fellows understood it, there he was between a general easily his equal and some few hundred brave souls, dropping from his saddle and cutting down those who held Agnar regardless of the state of his bleeding scalp and ruined face.

"What now old fool? Your skill may not be lacking, but your brain is" Lathar taunted, through jeers from behind as he faced turned to face Lathar, and even though all of the stormcloaks upon the other side of the great warrior made now to move forward and help, Graynar like the rest of them guessed that they could not reach the pair in time before they were ensnared by Lathar's soldiers.

"You pompous fool! Malcontent! Today is not your day to die! " Yohan roared as he pulled Agnar free from his bindings, himself still dazed and useless, "Don't you know that bridge's usually mean water?" Then the nord sheathed his sword, pulled Agnar to the side of the bridge, and did something that no one could believe as he pulled them over the side and into what was a drop of many dozens of feet.

Things happened quickly then, Ralof through knowing how fearsome Lathar was ordered his archers to fire upon the ranks of his massed soldiers, easy pickings in the long bridge not more than enough for six horsed men to sit across, but Lathar himself wouldn't let those opposing him the ease of things.

He came on with a thundering roar; blade poised to strike as he rushed at Ralof and his guards, none quailed yet soon they found they were not the equal of Yohan or even Agnar. One fell as Lathar impaled him with his first stroke; a second collapsed from his saddle as his blade fell short and that fearsome halberd pierced his weak mail towards his side, then a third attempted to hack at his horse with an axe – yet even then Lathar used the butt end of his weapon to bludgeon the expectant warriors unguarded face.

A guard of seven had been there to guard Ralof but as Lathar dispatched near half in a matter of seconds, with those others lost their nerve and fled as the irresistible Alik'r charged for Ralof, throwing the ranks into confusion as the Riverwood native turned and fled down the western flank.

If he was trying to drag the warrior away from his own men Graynar could not tell, but indeed whether it be by design or true fear the leader of their enemy turned off towards their own, two of his horsed companions following as the rest lead on towards the stormcloak ranks.

Disjointed and without their commander they seemed to lose heart, no man left of rank could overcome the great noise of the oncoming foe who tossed great blasts of fire and hails of arrows into the ranks of the relieving nordic force. Then as the two sides engaged Graynar like his others saw that these men and mer in all were as lusty as their commander – splintering shield and resolve as they crushed against the stormcloaks, a tidal wave of unmatched ferocity they pushed through the stormcloaks and towards the two valleys behind them.

There in the midst Graynar thrust his axe forward with all the bluster he could find within himself; whirling it and then crashing it against the shield or flesh of what he met in front, men beside desperately hacked away and mustered all of their strength both young and old – a show of what bravery all nords had when pressed to defend themselves.

It could not last though, the howl went up in triumph as one horsed redguard, a noble by the look of him hollered victory as Ralof was seen being driven off his horse by his opposing number, and the nords with that lost their nerve and turned.

Men behind hollered and saw their chance to escape the press into the barricaded camp they had hastily erected in the day before, while those in front felt their flanks becoming lessened and lost heart also, Graynar felt the same twang of fear as men disappeared in front of him to either death or injury – and as he saw a soon to be rout he did not even consider standing to fight.

It had turned to a rabble so quickly that he could barely out run those around him, who fled disgracefully in the shadow of that monument to Talos standing proud beyond Windhelm with the grave looked etched as if he was a displeased father, a mounted man attempted to rally those that had fled with some brave words – borne fruitless against the howls of those oncoming were louder still, until an arrow found it's mark into his throat as Graynar met the underbrush that would soon be gravesite for his body.

Shamelessly he got past the choking man; lying in a rapidly expanding pool of his own blood before throwing himself into the saddle, but he saw behind him that the man who had loosed the arrow was horse bound and had brought another from his quiver, Graynar quickly turned off behind the mountain to his left flank and fled.

It was away from the camps that he could see in the valley before him, but he did not care as long as an arrow did not bring him to earth like it did for the last man to ride the horse, fear cold and overriding harried Graynar as he went to cross over the mountaintop that separated the southern approaches to Windhelm, thankfully the battle had occurred upon the eastern flank.

His thoughts before; of Ulfric reclaiming his city and the fledging stormcloak movement were drowned out and turned to thoughts of bleeding across the hoary wastes of a hold not even his own, of seeing his sons grow up or even his wife to grow old and haggard.

Maybe he'd be able to get back to the camp if he hid in the thickets west of the bridge that they had crossed to get here, the one which he was closing in on as he got nearer to Windhelm – yet far from where the battle was moving –

Then he pulled on his reins so much that his horse whined and sputtered at the sudden stop, yet all he cared about was that at some seventy paces was that same bridge they crossed; he'd ran into the last person on earth that he'd want to cross, the last scene he'd ever want to cross, from now until the lands of the victorious dead called him.

If he'd thought at one time he might have gained entry into the hallowed halls of Sovngarde, it had been beaten out of him three knee injuries and a wife ago, and when he saw that same terrible and terrific redguard some many lengths ahead; holding his mastery over a half standing Ralof of Riverwood he knew he'd never make what it was that made a man known as a hero.

Behind him in the green twisted roadway hooves could be heard though, a single horsemen by the sounds of it. He saw the green and yellow tabard of the redguard rider that had attempted to loose an arrow into his back just moments ago and he whipped his horse on, thinking at least those in front where paying attention to their lord disgracing his own, both had their backs turned and their weapons slung on their backs.

_Divines be good grant me luck _he said hopelessly as he neared the small hillock that would lead him to the bridge, his axe held in hand and his other trying to keep his shield high and his horse running. It was another long moment then as he closed in the distance – an arrow came swirling over his shoulder – his axe swung and met the corner of his intended victims bronze conical helm, the rider fell and soon Graynar was on the bridge and rushing to drive his axe into the back of Lathar while he loomed over Ralof.

Feeling the adrenaline; knowing that he could soon end the most damning threat to Skyrim's northern lands made Graynar surge, his axe came up in hand as the outraged horseman behind him cried out in surprise and anger, his axe rose and then descended to make an end to _the great_ Lathar Mathias –

But then he saw the flash of that mighty halberd; and his shield crumpled under the turning thrust that Lathar had managed to whirl around to deliver, knocking Graynar head over heels onto the ground and leaving him there breathing ragged breaths, his mail shirt was torn to pieces; his chest beneath caved in and letting crimson seep fourth freely.

Above him, there was Lathar looking down with nothing resembling pity but everything known of content, while behind him walked the redguard who he'd knocked from the saddle only moments before, in his hands was a serrated dyke that had a lacquered wooden handle inlaid with ruddy gold.

_A fine blade to die by _he thought with something resembling desperate humour, chest shredded and his head swimming from the lack of oxygen, looking up he saw the blade be eased up so that the enraged redguard could take his revenge, he couldn't even think on what that oldest son of his looked like…would he see them now from the great beyond?

But it never came; not right at that moment then if anything, the redguard got no more than a fistful his ragged mop of dirty blonde before the ground shook and the mountain aside them seemed to tumble, even Lathar looked taken aback as the world around them seemed to tear asunder.

Graynar had heard that before however; alien as it was, so had Ralof who still was aware of that around him even if he'd been beaten and battered, "A dragon?" that same angry redguard said in shock and not a little bit of fear, "There!" the other shouted while throwing his jewelled fingers up at the western hills.

And there it was – ruddy gold and flame – howling against the wind as it swooped down towards the bridge, determined for a moment it seemed to kill them all, Graynar breathed what little he could in relief as it only swooped over head, near knocking them all over the side of the bridge and slamming him harshly against the stone of the bridge guard.

Lathar and his men took away from their captives and instead saw the dragon swoop past that same monument of Talos; which his own sons had fled from, into where the midst of both defenders and attackers fought, and even against the barrier that was the mountainside the battle could be heard raging.

Then the scream of the dragon was heard, akin to that of a hagraven shrieking before a blood sacrifice, or something as horrible "We must Retreat m'lord, a dragon is not a foe to be tangled with lightly." The redguard who had not fell victim to Graynar's sneak attack, unbloodied as he thought to call him said in more matter of fact tone, rather than fear.

If the imperious looking warrior was going to argue he fought the urge, instead agreeing and asking unbloodied to bind Ralof, "You can kill the other if you wish Arsuf." He told the other, short blade in hand he agreed and went back for Graynar's throat.

Weakly protesting; his hands came up to ward off this Arsuf, who all the same pushed his feeble attempts away and readied for a quick slice of his throat, Graynar couldn't hear the words he spoke as the dragon came up atop the mountain, roaring and snarling down beneath it's maw.

Dragons had a way of drowning out every other sound across an area of many leagues, someone could fail to hear a voice beside him or even the most piercing strains of a dying crow, an arrow too would be made silent and deadly, and that was the case of one said steel tipped projectile that caught Arsuf's chest.

His light linen and leathers was not enough to stop it piercing his shoulder, rendering his arm useless and dropping his blade there from it, unbloodied caught sight and grabbing Lathar let him know the danger. There from the western roadway came men who the captors of Windhelm would rather not have seen, holding aloft a banner of some six spans that were clashing sable and crimson, sequenced with stark linen that read _Dragonborn. Protector of Skyrim. – _Held in hand by a man coated in full plate of bland steel, a shield of no arms bearing upon his other hand.

Graynar held his hands to his chest; knowing that his time was finite if his wounds were not tended to, though hope blossomed as he like Ralof could see those oncoming, a trio of figures one stark white linen and a peerless long spear; another of fur and leather holding a bow with an arrow ready to be loosed, and then unbelievably; impossibly there was that of which the banner identified.

A person of scales and shorn bone; jagged and jutting from the greaves and chest piece to guards across his limbs, interconnected with ancient iron ingot and the skin of beasts slain by the hero of legend.

There on the bridge, Graynar could not tell completely if this was he, Reynald Manis on Graynar's last sight had been rough and unkempt looking, his armour had been that of a nobles garb rather than a hero's, and he could have only looked worse if the depths of his suffering had been in all truthful.

This man coming before them was hid behind a helmet wrought of the same ancient iron that made up the handle and straight guard of his greatsword slung over shoulder, with yet more toothed dragon bone sprouting there like three peaks upon a mountaintop. Under it Graynar could see full red lips; eyes bright as emeralds and skin as smooth as moonstone, a man too young to be the veteran dragonborn warrior if not far too comely.

The effect was the same as if it had been him however; back from the dead and looking healthy and strong as if he'd been cast from Sovngarde to help the stormcloaks in their time of need, to Lathar's extravagance he appeared still majestic if not even more lethal by sight alone, and his tone was fierce and testy "So you lot are the ones to steal my friends city eh? Best scarper back to it before my dragon friend leaves all your fellows to dust, or do you dare tangle with Alduin's bane?" Asked as his men behind, some dozen in all who were armoured and armed for a battle of many lengths came up behind, Lathar and his men took note.

A threat present was more forceful than one provided ahead of time, yet not even that Graynar supposed could accurately determine just how threatened one could feel as a dragon screamed and scoured at all your soldiers into the ground, heaving up his long blade Lathar told this dragon warrior in dark tones "You may have the advantage today. Yet all the same I'll have your head on a day less fortunate." Then with that he mounted his steed that had been brought by his fellow, a moment later they were off riding hard for Windhelm.

Graynar's head was swimming as the hoof beat of those friendly to him crossed the bridge, he heard voices around him and the feel of hands upon his body, peeling back his own and cursing as they caught sight of his wounding, faces that he didn't know yet were neither dunmeri or redguard alike which was enough for him.

Then the world came to fade from him, but he did not feel as if it was his end, his chest swarmed with a binding energy that made him both hitch his breath in agony and the finally relief, hands around him pulled him up into a carriage that had came along from where he could not tell.

As things past he found himself looking upon Windhelm from afar, as those who had routed him and his fellows were routed in part, their banners falling and men falling aside into the depths of the river as the dragon spewed flames and harried them every step, "Not long now." Someone had said to him from where he did not know.

It mattered little as the banners of the wolf and the long beard came into his sight, and he drifted off to whatever after held content.

Later at a time he did not know when, Graynar awoke with as much vitality as a man near robbed off life could, groaning and fretting as if he'd slept through the fourth age into the fifth. His first thought was to have his hands grope his chest; only to find patches of cloth and wetness underneath there, better than he knew it too be before hand, his eyes opened and found him lying across a well lit pavilion – again somewhat better than where he'd last found himself.

He was not alone, in the sparsely furnished though comforting room he saw two pairs of people joining him here, though all of them were in markedly better shape that he was. One was a man he knew easily; Ralof of Riverwood who was naked to his waist; receiving bandaging over a wound that had struck from his lower back to upper shoulder, from a man who could have been a healer or mage given the roughspun robes he wore, not to mention the wizened old head upon his shoulders and his rickety grasp which he saw to the commander with.

Upon the other end of the small table in which Ralof sat, complete with candles; maps, letters and some minor healing appendages, was another man in similar if not slightly grander looking burgundy robes that the old hand, though he was in his late mid years at most.

His face was a collection of sunken eyes; rough stubble and unkempt hair; not to mention pasty skin and a gaunt frame that suggested he'd fallen to ill health in days past, and speaking to him quite jovially without care of his appearance was that same man that had coated himself in the ruins of fallen dragons, Graynar and Ralof's – if not all who remained in their camps late saviour.

Ralof noticed him first, a smile on his face even as his attendant worked away on his back, "Ah you're awake, the man who pulled me from the fire firstly" the obviously weary man greeted, eyes dark with exertion and his back slumped, "How do you feel?", an obvious question in some respects given that he was alive in lieu of being dead, though another thought of him having turned tail and ran lead him to thinking shame was more appropriate.

"I'm just glad that I'm still breathing commander." Was all he managed seeing that both the eyes of the warrior and sickly man were upon him, both seemed pleased as with if not slightly more muted, "That's good to know. You may not have seen off that dog of a redguard yourself, but you certainly made sure he'd didn't have the head of our army, that being my head of course" Ralof told him lightly, "From one hero to another, I'll introduce you to Reynald Manis, the dragonborn of course as you know him. This too is Azel Stebane, the man who managed to scare off that twice damned Lathar." Fighting confusion Graynar managed to sit himself up and ignore the pain that well in his chest, thinking that he'd just introduced the now dead hero, but the ruby lipped warrior was far too young to be a man of that many years…it couldn't be this beaten down husk of a man could it?

It turned out that it could be; and the dragonborn had not been as dead as expected, reduced to the point of looking feeble if not wasted away perhaps, "How are you alive m'lord? We all heard that you were dead!" Graynar half shouted half sputtered, looking closer to see that indeed this could be the man of legend, perhaps reduced in mass and complexion enough to warrant hasty tales.

Yet could have anyone have been so irresponsible to claim him as dead really? He doubted that, for all the damage false reports of his demise would be, though Reynald told him somewhat cryptically "poisons of the lethality that afflicted me are near always going to lead to death; however each affliction as in everything has a cure. No one at the time of your departure had an idea of such filth in order for me to be saved, though one other did however in my final hours." It didnt tell him much and Ralof looked equally sceptical as Graynar imagined his own face would look, and he couldn't help the urge to ask more "Who could you have known that would have such knowledge, those wizards in Winterfell? Or some captured blood sucker?"

Hearing the possibilities Reynald laughed , "Good questions and answers alike to your own question, though I will say it was someone far more nefarious than the mages of Winterfell, perhaps as reprehensible as those cretins that caused all this hassle in the first instance" he said interestingly, though he would say nothing more, rather he said to them "It matters not how I was saved, in fact it would rather cause more harm than good to hear it said. It would be better to speak of things more pressing, what is the state of the army?"

The news was not good it seemed by Ralof's look at the asking, and he quickly related how they'd lost many to death and injury as his men had flown from the battlefield; causing Graynar to fight back yet another pang of shame at the thoughts of how many were not as lucky as he was, "Perhaps a hundred and fifty dead or injured on first count, though at least another amount of that would have been captured if not for your dragon coming to cause all that havoc as it did. Never did I think that I'd count a dragon amongst our saviours" the commander reported roughly, not liking the idea of it at all, "though at that our men aren't looking too high on morale even if we did manage to inflict losses of some measure upon these thieves, that being the dragon of course again."

Not bloody likely that any nord would happily welcome one of those creatures that had managed to torch at least half a dozen minor towns, Ivarstead, half the city of Riften not to mention near finishing Winterhold as a hold entirely, yet Reynald seemed to take allies wherever they came, and Ralof would of course take Reynald with whatever he offered.

"And what of Agnar and Yohan?" Reynald asked with real concern, supposing from what Graynar had caught that any man like Reynald could become close friends with a man such as Yohan, as well as caring about the health of Galmar Stone-Fist's first born "Alive if not very cold for it. They'd have been dead in the near frozen waters if not for it being spring, despite the fact that you can't tell here with all this bloody snow." Ralof replied with that added attitude to let them know his tether was wearing to its end, "Their deaths would have been a deathblow to the armies confidence, though I'm sure my return will help shore that respect up." Reynald said to all their combined agreement.

What he did not say was how he thought the city could be retaken, and on the asking he ran a hand through his tangled mop and told Ralof definitively "Those men if not for my flying friend would have routed your men all the way out of the hold, you'd be a captive and Ulfric would have a cities worth of knives at his back. This city won't be taken save for a shred of grace from the divines, or saving that me shattering the gates – if I don't take an arrow or ten in the neck of course in the trying."

Ralof was unimpressed, though Graynar could not but agree with that rather dour assessment, "You do not think there is a chance?" but Reynald only rebuffed him, "Even if you managed to break the gates you'd be fighting through what looks like a battle hardened and eager group of warriors, with a leader I hear could split Malacath himself from thigh to shoulder if so inclined."

"What do you suggest then?" Ralof finally asked, irritable and weary enough not to argue, Reynald's answer was insufferably lacking in imagination "Get stakes up against the bridge; given that you couldn't cut through this ground with Mehrunes Razor, Archers should be posted across the length of the river and a strong guard at the landing west of the dockside."

"Wait them out you mean?" Azel who was still a damn sight more intimidating that he who gave the frank advice asked, seeming a little surprised himself, yet Reynald was unapologetic "They are strong where we are weak, their leader seems bold enough to defy the gods themselves, they are eager and experienced where your men are irregular and hesitant. Hold to your advantage, keep the gate watched, let not a soul cross for neither intelligence nor supply, they can't do much faced with arrows and stakes to fight."

Graynar saw that Ralof was uneasy, dejected even as the once mighty hero now turned cautious and shabby, "What do I tell the high king?" he asked at a loss, "That he should have given you better bloody soldiers to reclaim two cities." Reynald replied testily, "You're given blunt blades and asked to take them into the maw of a semi-mythical army of undead, then these…I do not even know what to refer to them as? But all the same they are bloody fearsome. Now I tell you do nothing until you write for some proper soldiers from Ulfric, perhaps even ask help from the jarl of Winterhold so that they can make a big show off banners and klaxons at their rear. Meanwhile I'll send to the college and see if they're willing to offer some more potent methods of infiltrating the city, perhaps I can lead some mages into the city if they're willing to aid us."

Disgruntled with the thoughts of it, Ralof instead than arguing called for food and drink to be brought in whatever fare that could be found, though to Graynar and it seemed Reynald's prayers that they'd managed to snag a good measure of goat from a wild herd displaced from Whiterun hold, accompanied by a broth of vegetables which all of them save the now departed healer ate hungrily.

The same could be said of the ale which was always a constant in a nordic camp, icy as the ground beneath them which was all that could be said as to the benefit of the frigid night, Graynar as always was a man of many cups; like Ralof, Reynald and even Azel (Who he noted now looked more a breton than nord) who all drank like they were celebrating the greatest of victories.

During the rounds Reynald related some of the more gratifying facts of how Dawnstar had been managing from his for now mysterious revival, tales of those injured or scarred by their ordeal recovering enough to leave the ghost of a good feeling upon them, defeated and all.

It also helped to know that many of the remaining vampires had been ran down inside Morthal or just beyond, Reynald was hardly withheld in his pride as he related how that 'white knight' of his as Graynar thought of him, Zaric had slain a noted vampiric lord of some century long renown, not to mention leading a fight throughout the streets of the city that had ended the threat going south.

It was foreboding to know that this particular vampire had managed to turn a few of the cities guards into thralls, bloody dastardly Graynar though given the potential threat that presented if these vampires continued their threat, though all the same it was an ended threat now, "Good for us that your man held up to all you said then" Ralof said sincerely surprised, and truthfully Graynar and many nords thought he was a little too fanciful to be the match of a hardened nord – and not blood likely that of a vampire some hundreds of years old.

In all it was good news if not mingled with concern, but if Reynald or Ralof was going to break further words on it they would be postponed, as then a guard of theirs came to their tent and announced a visitor, from the city no less.

"Show him in at once" Ralof ordered, and there in came what he supposed would be an ambassador, though not what one would expect from the dunmeri-redguard threat.

Coming in through the mainly calm night was an orc if anything more surprising could be found, the perpetual sneer present upon his face as it was on so many of that often gruff race, though whether this was by their elongated under teeth rather than their attitudes by in large could be debated, Graynar thinking he'd met enough of the shrieking warmongers to know there savageness.

This one did not look as much savage as some naked berserker charging through a field of blood; but instead a soldier, aged by some years as was clear by his collection of withering scars long since whitened. But what differenced him from a mad berserke was that Graynar could see his professionalism through the rare set of lamellar armour he wore, notable that is took the combining of hundreds of small rectangular iron plates to piece together effectively, easy to maintain yet a pain to construct, good enough armour that it was able to glance off passing blade blows much better than regular chainmail; at only a small measure of the weight and encumbrance.

"What have you came here to say orc?" Ralof demanded with a mask of smouldering anger, "You'd best speak quickly, I'd not wager your head remaining on your shoulders otherwise." Though darkly spoken the words affected the orc not a little it seemed, "I'll speak plainly then" he responded with little more than a growl "I offered my services to the one who took Windhelm, working on the belief that I was a mercenary looking for employment in his army. Of course he was only too happy to use me, given that I'm expendable due to not being one of his own men" Now that was interesting enough to pause neither commander asking another question, leaving the still unnamed orc to continue "I'll be frank; I don't care about Talos, the divines, whether stormcloak or imperial holds Skyrim. What I care about is slaying as many vampires as I can get my axe into, which requires me to treat with you."

"Then it seems you'll find yourselves in good company given that we slew dozens of those filthy creatures, not to mention some hundreds of their own followers throughout the pale" Reynald replied intrigued "If we can help you we will, though not without your help with Windhelm. Naturally" the orc snorted and agreed, "My name is Durak, mind if I have some ale?"

Reynald waved him on, sharing a look with Ralof who looked wary at the orcs words, "You seem very forthcoming Durak, though I wonder how we can trust you given what little we know of you" somewhat rightly pointed out Graynar and Azel alike seemed to think as both nodded their heads at the asking, though Reynald seemed less concerned.

The orc was not pleased at that, owing to their nature of being upfront, obnoxious and threatening without a thought of guile, Graynar could give them at least that, they were bloody merciless in both war and diplomacy "I don't need your trust and I won't waste a breath trying to gain it, instead I'll explain the facts, that redguard and his band aren't some two bit mercenary band, there exiled bronze shields joined at the hip with enough angered dunmeri to cut through this pathetic excuse you call an army." Ralof and Graynar both didn't like that but Durak only continued frankly "You'll never get into that city without every one of your men dying twice over, neither can you use your dragon or you'll have a burnt down ruin to go home too. So I think you'll understand my words when I say that myself on the inside is enough to snatch a victory from what is surely going to be a defeat in any occasion. Now if we're all agreed, all we have we have to discuss now is equal value to me opening the gates and giving you back your city."

Reynald was impressed by his frankness though Ralof could have hit him with the haft of his axe, Graynar nor Azer could not believe the circumstances yet it continued to gain momentum "You'd open the gates? What is it you'd require for such a service?" they asked curiously, mouth wetting if not from the drink but the thoughts of having such an advantage, "I'd be a fool to ask you to free me so that I could go south to deliver an important letter to my leader, even if I guaranteed you I had a signal for my comrades inside the city. Rather I'd ask that you have your men deliver a critical message for me, to Isran of my order – the dawnguard." He then pulled free a writ of paper from the underside of his gauntlet, "It has word on where the vampires will target next, again something you might be interested in, though again I very much doubt I could get away with not throwing in some service, you bloody lords are all the same."

"Then you know noble lords well. Thank god there are none here" Reynald said behind a grin, before taking the note from Durak on offering and quickly deducting what it involved, "Dimhollow crypt? Never have I heard of it, though I suppose the number of crypts and abandoned resting places far outnumbers my wanderings. And what is this? It is within Dawnstar's own hold! Praise the gods; this could be from where the vampires have struck!"

It was news indeed, welcome enough that all thought went to reaching this Isran and delivering the message, yet Reynald was more impatient that Ralof in this as opposed to the matter of Windhelm, "I'll not sit idle one minute longer while these creatures can still strike within the pale" he decided with a feisty tone to his voice, "I'll need that armour of mine back Azer, and if you would muster the men I've brought and my companions."

"What is it you plan to do, I may have need of you if they decide to sally forth" Ralof argued, more towards sending a few riders rather than his most dangerous (albeit reduced) asset, but Reynald was implacable.

"They nearly killed me Ralof, not to mention those that they slaughtered in Dawnstar and beyond if they had been allowed. We can't allow them the advantage of time, if this Isran is in the south it'll take many days for him to react even if a messenger reaches him" Ralof looked hardly placated yet asked "What do you propose to do then?" Reynald rplied with a glint in his eyes.

"I have a dragon to count as friend, who's been known to allow me upon his back if the need is most desperate. If he's feeling favourable towards me I can make it to the south no matter the location in some hours, then a return to Dawnstar in under a day if I can hold up to the pace, my companions can meet me at Dimhollow –"

"Then you'll have the vampires upon you, but do you think you're up to the fight, not to mention that horses travel half as fast as the dragon flies", but it did not seem to enter Reynald's head, "I'll have the way of it this time, no getting close. My Thu'um will rock that crypt to the ground if it has to."

Durak seemed as pleased as those brutal looking mer got, "So we have an agreement then?" he asked quickly, and so was Graynar, so would any man be who'd seen his own cowardice displayed in some measure by the mightiest of them, only now to see the strength and how terribly delighted Reynald could be at the thought of revenge, "Bloody right we do, any vampire or thrall I find within dimhollow are going to pay for the lives they took." Reynald clasped Durak's hand in his own, eyes bright and a quirk to his lips "I'll return the news soon, you'll get their teeth or their essence as proof. Now you'll return with the tale that we are willing to discuss trading their captured men for members of Ulfric's relatives, Galmar Stone-Fists or whoever, that'll leave us enough time to prepare for their ambush."

"As an orc you have my word, bring me proof that you'll slaughtered the vampires root and branch; and I'll have the gates wide open at your signal." Now even with that, Graynar could see from his place as a man honoured for a poor showing bravery that Reynald was as wily in the tongue as he was deft with his sword, the reason he'd been born with dragon blood and not a half hearted old fool like him.

All he supposed he could do was serve Ralof faithfully in the days to come, perhaps he'd receive a position upon the commanders own guard, _What bitterness to serve as an honoured mans personal foot soldier_ he thought, he'd never be a hero.

Reynald would though, he took the great blade offered in hand by Azel and drew it fourth, it's blade forged from the denest innard of a dragons thickest bone, "A fine blade, now let's hope the warrior bearing it is up to the task."


	17. Creatures of the Night

Heyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyo!

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><p>The realisation of awareness came slowly, like a trickling faucet that began to mould into what became a roaring brook, full of pained thoughts and miserable desire as the block trickled down unto her lips, igniting her brain and body and returning strength to limb and body alike; eons of suspension removed as her life force flared.<p>

It came to her then that her name was Serana and perhaps _life force _was not an apt way to describe it, rather that she was awake, awake; after endless years sealed in a tomb not of her own need, but rather for the desire of her mother to spite her father as grievously as could be managed.

It was not some seamless transition, to go from suspension in some strange device of her mother's construction onto walking and fighting, or feeding for that matter. She simply could do little more than pull herself up to a seated position, against the back of the featureless monolithic casket that had been her vessel of confinement.

Her eyes opened after the innumerable count of years, seeing that indeed she was in dimhollow crypt, yet it was not just the overtly inscribed stonework and linked twin legged arches that greeted her, nor was it her lady mother either.

While that may have been for the best; given all the rancorous feelings that she had felt before her false imprisonment had began to well up as soon as she came to the knowledge that she was conscious, the reality wasn't much better.

When she did finally have some semblance of sight, after a moment of her pupils refusing to focus she saw that the cave had not improved much since she'd been unwillingly placed there – in fact she fancied the cave even less than when she had been entombed like some terrible vampire lord of old.

For something to make her even more resentful would have to be something passing the idea of confinement beyond time, and that for her it could only be for her death or endless pain, in the arms of those elvish races perhaps who coated their cruelty through supposed logic or sciences, or a rival vampire lord attempting to get her father's blood up.

It was the former now, brought at the edge of spear tips held close enough to skewer her if she had the notion of moving more than the foot they were pressed near would allow, in the hands of two men armoured in some odd style she attributed to the up risen nordic kingdom that had began to vie for dominance of Skyrim before her eventual sealing away.

Perhaps if she had enough time to recover she could thrash these two with her magic's off frost and flame, turning limb to glacier or boiling them inside their own suits of unwieldy armour, yet as she saw more she doubted those few behind strewn about would be so easy a proposition.

They included more men in armour to the number of half a dozen, some perking up and handling their weapons as they saw her awaken, while others went about checking blood soaked bodies for coin or jewels, or perhaps more dangerously vampire dust given that she could see they wore the tell-tale sigil of her father's house.

Where they vampire hunters then? men who owed allegiance to some minor king or lord, slighted by vampires (her own father most likely) and having found men of his, ran them down inside dimhollow to claim whatever they where after. It was perhaps true though to be considered yet she doubted very much that any lord within her time could have the strength to stand up against house Volkihar without experiencing her father's rather infamous displeasure, but it remained to be seen just how long she'd been taken from those days.

Those that were assembled were not all men of bland steel and iron though, and at the end of an over turned archway to her slight left was a pair of men both very different and yet equally exceptional in appearance. One a man of white robes and with a remarkably handsome face for such bloody work, though the long spear he held in hand somewhat disputed that fact that he looked too fine for it. The other was seated rather than standing, blood pooling beneath him as he worked to mend a wound in his hand, a man of striking; ominous dragon armour made of thick bone together with scales and aged iron, something she'd seen only once upon the body of a mortal being – an elf lord who long since lost a name in her memory, a mer her father had vanquished through poisoning many decades ago.

"You're awake then" that man of dragon ruins asked, voice light despite the dank cave being stuffed with the smell of gore and death. He obviously not be one to be put off by the bodies of a few souls, though perhaps he was only okay when those slain before him were her sort.

She didn't know what to say to that, faced with a small host of men who looked ready to have her killed at soon as she so much as threatened to move, "Who sent you?" was all she could croak out, feeling like she'd woken up with too little sleep, or better still a long week of not enough quarry.

"I came here of my own volition, though it would be notable to add that there are quite a few parties interested in my trip here." He was swaggering enough to suggest that he was a lord of some sort, the rare armour and the men acting at his behest only added to that suggestion, yet she'd faced down enough petty men and mer alike who had had the same pomp about them; only to becoming slobbering messes as there men and power proved fruitless.

That wouldn't be the case right away however, she wasn't up to this fight "Why are you here for, are you fighting my father" she asked further, knowing it would be foolish to consider some miraculous rescue (if it could be called that) given that her father's men lay around them in piles, fangs and pins being removed as his men did the work of vampire hunters, "Your father is lord…Harkon I believe? One of these corpses let it slip before I had my men cut him and his own down. If your father is the one to command this sigil" He showed her the sigil of her house, four thick pins struck across a sun with a blotted centre linked to an outcropping circle, before adding "Then yes I am fighting your father, in fact I expected him to be here. Instead I find you." Those words sounded far more unpromising now, even if his tone still remained light and conversational.

"Are you going to kill me then?" she asked with fear in her voice that she couldn't quite shake, afraid that she'd be relegated to death and sent to Molag Bol as his slave before she even had time to find what remained of her family, but the dragon warrior only laughed, hearty rather than bitter or maniacal.

"I came here for something, a hinge for the next step of the vampire menaces plan." He told her honestly it seemed, without fear or guile he thought not to need "I came here to slaughter every vampire I could find as retribution for those slain by your people's hands in Dawnstar. Instead I find a miserable sort of backbiters who didn't offer more sport than your average draugr." Serana looked again as one man began dumping the corpses, apparently having enough of the smell. _Skilled enough to wipe out a whole throng of her father'_

_s own men_ "Now I have you, a vampire entombed long enough that I can perhaps assume you did not have any hand in your father's recent aggression."

She was relieved; he wasn't a maniac at least, rather instead reminding her of one of the direnni warlords rather than nordic, with his composure and restraint. Yet perhaps she'd counted her bats in hatchlings far too soon. He called for his sword; which was shown to be a blade of perhaps three spans, the hilt and core of the blade consisting of iron that she could tell was aged beyond the scale of time by its dark colour, while the blade itself was dragon bone, yet of a further shade darker to suggest that it had been the very marrow of the great beast that t had been forged from.

It was very impressive; perhaps even priceless, the dragon warrior took it in hand easily and laid it across his knees, a picture of composed command that she found almost appealing, then finally he told her "Now here I have the thought of have your head off given that your father took many daughters and sons; children all from those poor parents in Dawnstar that did him no harm. Yet justice is not the way of taking one man's child for one he has taken, yet that said you are still a vampire" She cursed her father for that damned sigil, present upon her breast (if not herself for announcing her family ties) "That does not make you guilty in itself, yet you are so by association. I'd impress upon you the need to provide information that helps me in learning more of your father and his plans and with that absolving yourself of critical blame, otherwise you'll feel my blade impressing upon your neck – if only for a moment."

She knew that the threat was real of course; the bodies strewn about were enough to displace any notion that he'd treat her any different even if he appeared somewhat cordial, men or vampire it seemed that the entire lot of them were eager for blood in some way.

Unfortunately for her what she _knew_ also was that she knew nothing; save that her mother had her locked away here, that her father had lost his mind to some great delusion of prophesies, and that most likely she'd soon be a head shorter if she had nothing to say.

"If you wish to kill me then don't stand on some idea of rightful justice, I am after all just a _vampire_ after all" she told him while trying to keep her tone civil, old feelings of helplessness gurgling up "But I've been locked away from my father for a time I do not know, I cannot tell you more than this; if you kill me then there is one less vampire in the world, but if you let me live and allow me to help you then perhaps we can figure out what is truly going on." The words were more forcibly calmed than eloquent, she couldn't have grovelled beneath a normal man in any circumstance, and she didn't know where they would be enough until the dragon warrior called for his men to stand down.

They did so by turning away from her and not once fearing that she'd be on their backs; slashing away and trying to get at their necks, showing that the fear of her kind had been lost at the look of her, a girl slight in body and looking utterly helpless by all accounts, her strength had returned enough for her to get up on her feet though, then she noticed that it was gone from her back.

Not only that but the most precious item of hers was now in a carrier bag across from those same armoured warriors, poking out of a simple travel bag as if it was any other material, "That's my elder scroll" she blurted out before she could help herself, edging towards the dragon warrior in accusation.

He didn't move from his seat even as the same stark white warrior beside him moved to intercept her, "I wouldn't appear too aggressive girl, Zaric here is lito skewer you like he did two of your brethren," was the warning which when given did stop her advance, noting that now her short blade had long since been removed with the scroll, but still anger threatened to overwhelm her, enough so that she began to toy with the idea of a spell of mass reanimation she had learned from her mother – directed ironically at the men who'd been sent by her father to most likely enslave her all over again.

Spears having levelled again within reach to prove it a fruitless venture stopped her hand from rising too high to cast however, so instead she glowered at the infuriately pleased with himself dragon warrior "Can I at least have your name, some thieves like to have their names cursed after all" he only laughed harder, "you can call me Reynald, which trust me is an honour" she certainly felt honoured, "Now we'll discuss terms"

She'd rather see what he looked like torn out of that armour; perhaps beaten and bloodied for good measure by any one of the creatures she'd learn to summon, instead she nodded and let him wax on, suspecting he really did enjoy his own voice a little too much.

That aside the terms were relatively simple, she would provide a location upon her family's power base and a way inside the castle, in return he would (provisionally) return the elder scroll to her, wary enough to believe her that they'd not get too far without it.

That seemed like that then and his men pulled up their packs and got ready to move, yet she had a horrible feeling at the pit of her stomach at just how further deranged her father could have become since she had last been awake, and why now had he finally learned of her location.

Was he now holed up inside castle Volkinar, torturing her mother with the racks and blades, pincers and scythes, as she could only too well remember that he had grown a terrifying habit of performing horrible acts upon the cattle within their stock, would he do the same to her?

Reynald ushered her on, handing her a long sack that the elder scroll was now snugly and more importantly secretly tucked inside, then came her blade, a small dyke that she'd taken from the corpse of a dunmeri mercenary, how many years ago she of course didn't know – she'd have to find that out along with quite a few other things.

"So what, we are meant to simply leave you with a vampire while we're used as glorified messengers?" she heard one of those armoured men, the one she noticed held a dual threat of both mace and sword, really the only thing she could define them by in the poorly lit cavern.

"You're meant to follow my commands if I recall" Reynald returned dryly, though not with the rising hackle she'd seen in so many men who were questioned "Now that we have a location we'll know where the threat comes from"

"They nearly killed you before if not to mention what going into the midst of them would spell for our chances, you'd more than likely be dragged off to the dungeons" the armoured man, somewhat squat looking protested, "You were nearly lost once and all of your work was unravelled, you cannot take the chance again" the spear bearing warrior added, but it looked to her that over confidence would win the day.

"I was nearly killed because I valued revenge over right action, something I'll not likely do again, we'll need some of the strength Ulfric has in the south, do what I ask", that seemed to decide for them what was going to happen, and though she nearly laughed at his sheer haughtiness she could

"How many of your men are travelling with us then?" she asked rather too innocently, but he just smiled and said curiously "Not more than myself, no need to send a dozen messengers when one will do. I'll have some protection however; enough to overcome any desire to harm me I'm sure."

She wasn't so sure, for although she never liked killing or draining people without cause, a small notion could easily convinced to knock him across his rough covered face, enough times perhaps to knock some of that ego out of him, a stark reminder of her father and how'd he had been even before his frightening descent to madness.

It wouldn't be happening in the company of his own men however, who with her in tow began to file out across the platform in an attempt to get free of the cavern, towards a small bridge way that she'd been led over by her mother in days long passed.

There was more bodies there, men who were not vampires but thralls, strong and capable in the body yet enslaved by the powers of seduction contained within her peoples blessings, "Who is the current High King?" she asked as a way of gauging the time in which she slept.

Before she was answered a man who'd taken to clearing those bodies nearer to the upper gate called out that it had been dropped and was now impassable, turning them towards the back reaches of the cavern.

"You know a way out of this?" her chief captor asked, but she could tell them nothing save that perhaps further in the ruins there could be an escape entrance which he accepted without concern, "These ruins always do have interesting ways of escaping, I suppose the dragon priests who built them were as paranoid as they were power mad.", They easily found another bridge way which led them towards an equally foreboding tunnel, "As for the high king, that would be Ulfric Stormcloak, lord of Windhelm of the eastern midlands of Skyrim if your geography is partly lacking." It wasn't, she knew of the city that had been founded after the days in which men had erected a safe haven in the north for themselves, new in respect to Winterhold which was the greatest of their holdings.

"So why are you hunting vampires, I thought nordic kings were meant to lead the battle lines themselves?" Which of course was true; given mans penchant for being berserking heathens that respected only the man who could swing the heaviest of hammers or rut the best of the elvish kingdoms, "The king is south dealing with the empire, and given that you lot are less of a threat presently it's left to me so clean up the carnage. Not as if I don't have my own war to fight" He half informed half complained; which led to a multitude of questions as to what was this empire, where was his war if not here, what sort of man was he if not a nord, and namely how long had she been away.

They were interrupted in the asking by two effigy's of her families once newly bred servants exploding in shards of dust and stone, snarling with their spindly heads closed with double lapped and enlarged maws, wings fluttering to get them airborne so that they could use the claws from advantage above.

Whether they were there to protect her or prevent her from leaving was not seen though, Reynald's men were too many in number for these two gargoyles, and they quickly slew both beasts with their spears and swords.

She asked questions then of course, not being able to help her natural curiosity at how the world had changed since her removal, Reynald easily sent his men forward to clear ahead of a small rough path they had found, and his news was startling.

On what he told her she found that the length of time she'd been asleep was measured in the ages and centuries rather than years or even decades, empires had fallen and formed including wars and disasters innumerable to count.

He was equally astounded however as she recalled the days leading to her seclusion, talk of the dwarven elves and the snow elves; known to him as falmer after some drastic turn in their fortunes. As they walked he related the news of a civil war against the backdrop of a religious argument placed even further yet between the supremacy of men and mer, an old tale even to her who had seen only the beginning of the tension.

Momentarily they had been interrupted by draugr bursting from their cursed burial places, though not in enough number to warrant more than Reynald's soldiers attention, professional as they were to someone who'd seen only the beginnings of mans ascension, Serena found that these men had came from what was considered direnni held lands, stolen once by the wizard led clan that had struck from the lands of far south where the elves were most powerful.

Too much had changed to be covered in just a few passing words, and her thoughts all the same turned to how her mother and father had survived after eons of time and so much changing fortunes.

She was distracted then as they came to a meeting place of the men that had settled in this place, a room of ceilings dominated by rough rock and craggy formations, led down by four pillars with the carvings of sorrowful old faces which were as thick as a battlement, surrounded by row upon row of rough seating that looked to be a meeting place of old.

At the head of it all was a small and bleak throne, sitting a looming figure of time-beaten armour upon rotted flesh, and on walking further they could see more high backed and ornate seats amongst the mass of those carved into the stonework.

"They look to have died in their seats" one soldier remarked going forward, wary with his spear held to defend if any of the dozen or so bodies began to come back under the same curse as those before, she desperately wanted a weapon herself beyond her spell casting.

"Pair up and make sure they won't be rising" Reynald ordered, himself focusing upon a strange gap in the rock walls to the far right of the room, "Follow me" he told her while pulling free his great dragon blade, she didn't see a reason not to investigate while his men carried out the butchers work.

And they did to as the skeletons one by one rose up and attempted to resist their prescience in what was their last resting place, yet none save the great undead at the centre throne could offer up more than a singular; uncoordinated and helplessly underwhelming defence.

They came to the gap which turned to be a wall of stone dug in against the ancient stone at what would have been great labouring, the rock around it being filled with the painting of dragon followers and their priests in great reverence.

The wall itself was at its head marked by a massive effigy of a dragon maw, beneath it the carving of a language older than even she could guess, Reynald stepped forward as it to regard it closer, then she was taken aback as the wall began to shudder and whisper, words of power not heard since the days of the dragon wars.

The wall shone on some symbol of impossible to tell significance; pulsating azure which became a undulating current of purest gold as it enveloped her previously remarkable, if not now intriguing so captor.

It increased until there was a pure entrapping maelstrom of energy around him, shouting words of an unknown language at him as if to break his mind, yet not once did he falter nor beg for a release, and after a long moment he became free of the hold that died down as quickly as it had taken hold.

"That was…interesting" she commented, seeing the same look of amazement upon the faces of his men in all, "It always is the first time" he told her while stepping away from the wall without another look and making for the doorway atop the gathering place, "What sort of magic is that? I've never seen anything like it" she told him matter of fact, but he only laughed.

"You'll find out soon enough if you live to see the week out" he told her, which made her bite down another comment and some choice words into the mix, soon enough she'd be free from this dusty old cave and that was enough for her.

When they came out of the cave into a bright Skyrim morning she'd breathed in such a hearty gulp of air that she forget how much she despised snow drifts that assailed them as soon as they were free, not even the whipping frost could strike the smile from her face though as she realised finally – after so many years she was finally free.

It didn't even matter that she might as well be walking into the den of another potential spell as a captive, that moment there upon the banks of a stark white hill were hers to enjoy, she didn't even care if those men passing her smirked and joked at her apparent delight.

"There laughing because there from High Rock" Reynald now at her side told her, having asked his men to make a horse available to her, "Not one of them could ever be glad to see a day like this." She thought that she could quite easily face another hundred days of these drifts and the cold, wading through the snow to make gargoyles as she'd use too, in her mother's garden while she tended to her exotic shrubbery unawares.

Her father probably had that garden set blaze in the fall out from her mother's betrayal, had he found her mother only lately? Was this how his men had found her, or worse still would she return to find her torn up upon the racks of the castle?

"We must go now" Reynald interrupted her from across the mound, having moved to his men while she was in her thoughts, she nodded quietly and joined them there were all their horses had been held, prickly and eager to get off the relatively small (though still daunting) mountainside.

Leading a horse down the side of the mountain was easy enough given the well trained nature of the mounts, not to mention that it was contact with another living being that hadn't threatened to have her head off; nor be willing to carry out the order. Petting its chestnut mane as they went seemed to please the creature well enough to follow her without incident, though she guessed that it simply knew this was the quickest way down the mountain.

When they finally got around the natural bend of the mountain and down onto the flats Reynald ordered the splitting of the parties, un-expectantly he did as he said before and ordered his men off leaving just himself and Serana for the ride north, with his men to split up and diverge towards different destinations in the south.

Zaric (who she related to the sort of man found within whimsical poems and ballads) protested yet again that Reynald was taking too many risks, but again and again Reynald rebuffed him like he would an overzealous mother, until finally he marched off to join his chosen half of the men.

She could see why he was worried, the sound of a vampire lord and a castle filled with him would be enough to frighten off most men or at least make them wary, without adding to the fact that her father was a uniquely dangerous individual given now that he'd in his later years almost completely given no quarter, no leniency and worse still – never missed an opportunity to lay the most sadistic torture upon mortals who slighted him.

Reynald wouldn't bend if even his own men couldn't dissuade him so she did not attempt to, "You show a lot of trust considering you just threatened to have my head, what makes you think I won't cut your throat while you sleep?" she asked him as a shadow loomed over them, shaking snow from the forest around them; reversing the drifts mid sway and shaking the small bluffs and mountains around them alike, "I wouldn't merit your dagger over my friend" He said while motioning up as the shadow crossed above them, a creature of epic spans with the hide of red slashed with gold, beautiful and dangerous to her eyes.

"You have a pet dragon?" she asked astonished, before thinking her words were ridiculous, and she was found right as he laughed and corrected her "He's merely a friend of mine, following from afar as per request. I told you your people where a menace in these days, yet they aren't the total sum of things." With that he gave his men one last farewell, reined on his horse and began to get away, leaving any further questions she had there.

She guessed that perhaps he wanted to be alone with his thoughts and was hardly concerned that she wouldn't follow, given that he had already agreed to her request to return home, so she sat her horse to a trot and took in all that around her.

It was as pleasant as she could have ever thought Skyrim could be; with snow and wind whipping up against her, trees shifting and blowing around her as they came out of the small mountain pass and onto the flats of Hjaalmarch, then Reynald kicked up his horse and began to push away to which she eagerly matched, not a thought to how the pace made her hair become undone or that her legs felt uncomfortable after so long absent from the saddle.

Instead she relished chasing through the white of the forest that they had began to whip through, seeing elks bolt and predators take notice as they came and went by the leave of what there mounts could stomach.

She'd near caught Reynald by the time he shouted across his shoulder that they were passing Morthal; a city she knew before as merely a spec upon Skyrim's map to honour some fallen nord hero, from what she could see beyond the more sparse outcropping of the forest was that it had not changed much in that respect.

It went like this until they rested for the night; under a rock outcropping that provided enough cover from the wind that blew in from the north, cold as it was she could not quite fall asleep right away and instead asked him – plainly why vampires were now the choice fare of the day.

He told her about the Dawnstar attack, all the details of all the killing, how Vingalmo (Who she knew from her father's court) had managed to place a firm hold over the city, his attempts to break their siege and finally how he had near been killed himself.

She felt ashamed as he told her, of all the death her father had caused on what would have been a further step for the prophecy that had claimed him, she'd even had thought to apologise; pathetic as it was before she noticed Reynald was asleep first, his head slack against the rough bedding he had made up before even considering anything to eat. Serana thought he was mad for trusting to let himself sleep before a vampire, even as secure he was beneath that armour she could cut into his flesh easily enough.

Then the dragon swooped by close enough to give her his reasons right then, she turned on her own bedding then, far enough from him yet still huddled behind the rock, drifting off to sleep soon after.

The next day then started as there hours travelling, fast and punishing upon their mounts as both of them aimed to get within range of her home by the day's end, breakfast was not had until Reynald had sent her to purchase some dried meats from a store in the town of dragonbridge.

A place hundreds strong in population; this was a place she wished she could avoid, for fear that the repercussions of Dawnstar would be as far reaching as men and women actively searching out her sort, yet it was the exact opposite as Reynald made to trot through the city streets before the day truly started.

She was quickly bartering for the meat at the first trader she saw open while Reynald settled in behind a tradestore, some ways of the main road like a common criminal (albeit mounted on a horse), before a small party of loggers came marching down the street bare chested and hardy despite the coldness of the day.

One only had to catch a sight of Reynald's helmet hooked to his steeds saddle, his armour having been hidden by the dusty hide he'd used for his bedding the night before, and then they were over around him in raised voices and raised hands, it looked like to Serana that he really is a criminal as she should be considered – her hand straying to her blade before she shop keeper behind her asked excitably "The dragonborn…out there? Shor be praised!" he half laughed half shouted before taking from behind his store and towards the now disrobed Reynald who looked sheepish indeed.

He raised his hands up to silence them with a grin that could split his cheeks, unable to repress his happiness at seeing the small crowd around him as they expressed their delight, _A dragonborn_ she asked herself, remembering something of that talk passed on by excitable nord story tellers in the kingdoms of men, tales of men who could shout down castles and steal the souls of dragons.

It certainly seemed to fit; though she supposed he didn't wish the whole of the hold to know he was round or abouts, it took him more than a little tiem to distance himself from the crowd; decline and then finally accept gifts of food and fine from the overzealous trader before they were on their way again, with the crowd in the background chanting his name and shaking the town awake.

_DRAGONBORN. DRAGONBORN. DRAGONBORN. _Went the chant as they rode away over the northern pathway, with Reynald saluting with an upturned hand as he broke over the ridge, "Your very popular it seems" Serana said to him with more than a little understating, "Dragonbridge was near burnt to the ground during the dragon conflict, or at least much of its lumber yards. I helped them out, now they love me for it" he said to her by way of explanation, though he didn't sound as arrogant this time around.

The rest of the day passing the city was; as days often tend to be in the most north-western reaches of Skyrim, uninteresting and dull, there were few things here given it's highly frosty weather, lack of land for farming and that lumber yards could be situated far closer to their holds.

The passed only a few ruined fortifications, ruined temples and deserted bandit holdouts, everything else being falling snow and white soaked greenery, hours passed as the weather worsened by heavier snow and falling temperatures, until finally they reached a path that Reynald knew would lead them to the seafront.

An hour following that and they were outside a keep that was remarkably well intact to her eyes, one that certainly hadn't been abandoned long once they discovered that no one was within, "Strange that this place is abandoned" she said to him as they began to search through it for the boats he suspected they would find, he didn't seem to be anyway keen on answering that however.

They found a small row boat, two oars which left them in good stead for the journey, the row across was choppy and ill tempered however, enough so that when they finally reached the other side Serana near hopped out in delight, Reynald was more reserved however.

"Home sweet…castle" she muttered as she saw him look upon the place; a massive fortress of near epic proportions, encircled by fog and upon an island barely enough to contain it, she always thought it looked as if a swotted mass of thick stone and menacing heights that promised as much horror as those who had now held it.

Reynald certainly didn't like how daunting it looked, having expected perhaps an old ruin of some lost civilisation, an idyllic island that hid the grave threat they presented even, instead he saw walls thick enough to resist even the most damaging nature of his thu'um, a gate resting behind a barbican that could neither be melted or shattered without anything less than a barrage of catapults of even a battering ram.

"Look at the height of those walls; I don't think they make ladders that could scale them, nor climbing spikes that could dig in" Reynald muttered with as much misery as she had heard from him to date, "My father isn't the sort of man to be trifled with" she was sure she'd warned him before, perhaps now he saw scale of what her family was, "You can still turn around now you know, you've already been shown this place" she advised him with genuine concern, given that he'd already done her a favour beyond what most mortal would attempt.

She was as stubborn as she had seen from him so far however, obstinate to the point of his own demise, "I've faced down the maw of a god incarnate, survived a hundred battles, I fear no vampire lord and his poor ilk" he told her with conviction, yet she brushed aside all that and placed a firm hand upon his arm; where the gap beneath his scale existed.

"You don't understand, this place isn't some castle to be stormed like a fort full of bandits. There are hundreds of creatures inside that will devour you for diner, dragonborn or no." She insisted even as he looked at her defiantly, and even as she felt like giving up and leaving him to make his own fate yet still made to plead again, "Just like me do the talking, for a little while at least. Surely you can manage not to swing your sword around like some wild man, or was I wrong about you?"

"Fine, I can play follower for once I suppose. Not that I was about to go about storming the place myself anyway" he relented, waiting for her to pass around him before he followed on, across the bridge that she knew from experience could lend a way for at least eight men fully armoured, she guessed a man like him would know how much of a disadvantage a force of even superior numbers would be.

She reached the apex of the bridge; saw the gateway and barbican there with the looming castle overhead, gargoyles were around them now as they approached, there was a set of men there also, all of them withered and pitiful looking beneath unkempt mantles of grey rough spun, using their spears as leverage as they seemed to sag under the duties required of them, she could only guess that whatever vampire master had commanded them had made sure that their duties were long and sapping.

At first they brought their weapons on them as a threat; spears posed to strike out before they realised Serana's surprisingly familiar clothing, one of them who was the most dried up there asked who they were – hesitantly in a voice that betrayed his fear of his masters.

"I am lady Serana, daughter of lord Harkon, I'd like to see my father now" she told them, leading to them scraping over the doorway that lead to the interior of the castle, pushing back her hesitation and braving herself forward, she looked behind her one last time to see Reynald following without so much as a half step.

_He's looks far braver than I feel at least_ was her first thoughts as they came through the gate, directly into the dining room which served as Harkon and his subjects main place of discussion, unchanged, opulent and as nauseating as ever.

Within the approach to the hall was mer made vampire by the clashing violet-grey robes he wore, in the style expected of her father's 'royal' court, he barked out a hasty warning – relented as he saw Serana – then looked even further shocked as he caught sight of the man with her, "what is this?" he confusedly asked while staring accursedly at Reynald, oblivious to her own dramatic appearance.

Reynald looked just as pleased which is too say none, making to get to grips with Vingalmo before Serana stopped him with a hand around his arm, she could feel the strain muscle there as he worked to get forward, "Don't. Not now" she warned him, marvelling at how rigid his dense felt.

"I'll deal with you later" he only promised as he yielded to her wishes, Vingalmo was unsettled enough to pass on answering that call, instead beckoning for Serena to follow him into the main hall.

She could only imagine the disgust Reynald felt behind her as they were drawn in; as bodies of their cattle lay on the table while Harkon's sycophants tore into flesh and bone like the wild predators they were.

Yet came he did, behind Vingalmo who announced "My lord, everyone! Serana has returned" an announcement that surprised her, yet was seemingly expected a moment later. Of course her father expected her to return given that he'd seen those dead in the cave to her burial place, but how would he take the new of their demise?

Her father sat at the very head of the table that swept around the luxurious room at three sides, filled with every piece of revelry and pomp needed for a feast, though unlike that of a mortal table, there was no true _food_.

As she was announced by her father rose and looked upon the daughter he had not caught sight of in centuries, and like her he was unchanged, strong and powerful looking beneath the lacquered leathers that he had chosen as his royal armour, and again like her on well aged sable crossed with a crimson undershirt that crossed across his back into a mantle. The same went for his boots, gauntlets and belt which were all oiled leather; no weapon was at his side.

His eyes; much like hers were that same molten shade of fire, with the same strong angular features that showed him as a pure blooded man before his consideration as being a vampire, he had grown a fine beard close cropped around his mouth which gave him an even more malevolent look, he beckoned her forward in that deep baritone voice of his "At last my long lost daughter has returned, I trust you have my elder scroll?"

She accused him then, near in anger that only he could fathom so quickly "So that's all you care about, your blood scroll?" yet Harkon laughed, assured her that he was 'delighted' to see her, how sure she was off that didn't amount to much, "If only your traitor mother were here, I'd let her watch this reunion – before putting her head on a spike." Serana near visibly breathed a sign of relief at that, her mother was safe at least.

It went to Reynald then, Harkon eager to know more about a man who came into his home bearing the armour of beasts considered as the most dangerous fare of Skyrim's ancient times, she knew she had to let the dragonborn take care of this himself.

She was not anything more than indebted to the man, who had his own ends and therefore his own fate, yet she never liked to see her father striking out with that horrifying anger of his, "Reynald Manis is my name" was the answer he gave, short and smart.

Harkon then boasted of their sort as 'the oldest and most powerful vampire cult within Skyrim', a claim while not disputed was not likely to garner him favour as he would have expected, after all what did Reynald look like but a worthy mortal eager to be considered to join their ranks.

That was not to happen it seemed however, for Vingalmo took it upon himself to seize the conversation, telling Harkon "My lord there is something you must know, this man is no mere mortal looking your favour. Rather he is the one I told you off, the man who destroyed my force in Dawnstar, stopping my work early", the entire court looked to stop and shift their gazes at that, perhaps some eager to see if Vingalmo was true in his words, or see if the mortal would begin to quiver and beg.

"Your altmer attack dog is right, I killed many of your vampires, and my men killed the rest. I had their thralls executed; their hounds and all their creatures killed and burned." Harkon's eyes filled with rage and Serana's heart beat like a battle drum, but Reynald was not done "Two of your brethren were alive by the end of things, I had their teeth ripped from their mouths and heaved the sword myself that decapitated them within Dawnstar, the same could be said for those you sent after your daughter."

Harkon was eerily silent, "Why did you do this?" he asked at a whisper, the way Serana had seen him before he ripped the object of his attention to pieces, yet Reynald had no idea of his danger, replying unpleasantly "because I could, because you and your house carried out a slaughter within Dawnstar that had to be avenged. I won't allow Skyrim to be preyed upon by you and you're ilk –

At that Harkon transformed in rage, his skin pulling apart into the form of what was called a vampire lord, taut skin and royal attire turned pale and fleshy, while his face became a salivating maw under a terrifying visage of evil, the face and power granted to him by his sacrifices to Molag Bol with his body gaining strength and power beyond mortal men.

"You dare contend with me, a mere mortal against the might of a god incarnate?" he asked in a horribly overpowering tone, reminding her of the daedric witch's that screamed her sacrifice to that same prince that had both blessed and cursed her.

"I so dare, a mere mortal who has slain one god, and men and mer and all the vile things in this word to " Reynald thundered back, pulling free his mighty blade and levelling it at her lord father, "I brought you your daughter, only so that I could deliver this message. Back down from whatever plan you have, for I will not allow it, do so and I will allow you to remain here on your island with no more to be said of it. Persist; and I will destroy your house root and branch", Harkon howled at the threat, angered so much that Serana thought he would attack him right there at that moment, yet that was there between them – a definitive showing that the mortal before him could attest beneath the shoulders of immortals and gods.

Harkon told him in a snarl "You have furthered my plan of domination, so much so that I will allow you to leave with your life this once" He stamped forward as if to strike, but rather instead bore his teeth and threatened "From this day onwards you will be an enemy of my house, a target for my wrath, go now and die like the rest of your poor mortal brethren", he thundered one last howl as his hand shot up and mystical energy shot from it, enveloping Reynald even as he attempted to cast a spell to repell or reflect it.

He was gone a moment later in a blur of swirling energy however, leaving Serana alone with her father and all his power, around her and before her in equal and terrifying measure, "Come my daughter, you'll tell me more of this fool and his designs. The time of the mortal is over, and we shall rule this world."


	18. The Ill Favoured

hello there, let me just say that this chapter will resolve a few things, create a few more things, generally appear to be a continuation in where this story has seemingly derailed, though dawnguard will be settled soon, as will the Skyrim part of the story for good or worse, i hope you enjoy.

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><p>Towering and full of majesty, the great effigy of Talos that overlooked Windhelm was the most revered of its kind, seated at the pinnacle of a Cliffside that had been mounded up and secured for the chief bastion of nordic belief.<p>

It was a stark reminder that Skyrim was for the nords; for the nine, and the hero-god Talos who was joined to their mastery, something which would be remembered tonight, though in what respect was still be debated

Would they be remembering Tiber Septim as the man who brought together an empire from the wastes of Sancre Tor, famed for his ability to weigh both battles and diplomacy at equal measure, or the nordic conception of Talos, a god-king who was able to smote the Altmer within the reaches of their own hallowed crystal tower.

Reynald for his part wanted it to be a reminder of Ulfric's hold on the north-most region of Tamriel, with justice given to those who perpetuated the occupation, the rest exiled to the borders, perhaps sent to labour in one of the many mines now derelict through the course of the civil war, to reduce Ulfric's reliance upon Markarth.

They couldn't just execute every redguard and dunmer they found inside, there was no justice in wanton slaughter, needed if anything to placate the many noble houses that accompanied Ulfric in his war for secession, could they expect that to be seen as anything more than a new nordic kingdom of brutality and racism?

A better question perhaps would be whether that wasn't what they were going for, with all the narrow minded nords Ulfric seemed to have within their higher ranks, an example being that which stood in front of him now, armoured like Ralof – beside him in full battle dress; including the trademark corselet of mail, plate greaves and gauntlets, overlapped by the wolf skin and dyed blue leathers of a stormcloak commanders dress, Arngeir from clan Stonewall – an old name that even Reynald had to respect.

"We cannot just pen them in like trolls in a cave. Do you know what happens when you trap trolls in a cave? They fight back like bloody enraged trolls!" He argued, for what seemed to be the twentieth time, "If we offer them the side door; only one man or mer can leave at a time, they will be able to neither attack or defend, we'll break them upon the riverside and make a great capture of them." Reynald could remember the last time he was within a force that had put their adversaries back against the wall, his own provincial legion against a savage group of isolated orcish berserkers high in the wrothgarians who had razed a local breton town, something that seemed half a lifetime ago yet was fresh in his mind for the horror of the memory.

It was a bloodbath that was surpassed by few others for the legion within High Rock, save only for the horrific Mehrunes Dagon conflict, costing the lives of thirty four legionnaires against just twenty orcs, and that was only a minor skirmish; this was to be a battle among the hundreds.

He would receive no understanding from this man it seemed; who was as obstinate as his name suggested, on the edge of what respect he held seemingly "We have the element of surprise, we have my veterans, guile isn't needed here – only an axe upon each of their necks." He could have hit the man there, _save me from the stupidity of nords_, "this is my attack Arngier, I was the one who dealt with the vampires, we wouldn't even have the chance if not for–"

"Please; peace brothers, now is not the time for arguing like spoiled nobles" Ralof interrupted, eager to keep the rising voices of the two men down, "Your both right, we can't just let them run, but neither can we simply fight them into a corner. Why don't we leave the door free; then place archers across the opposing bank?" was his suggestion, something Reynald had wished to avoid, he didn't want to kill a troop of dunmeri who simply had been taken to far by Ulfric, nor did he want to eliminate a man as mighty as the redguard captain whom he'd heard so much about.

"I'll agree to that, but I won't abide any order from Ulfric to have this lot executed. Remember Arngier, I didn't save you lot just to watch you tear Skyrim up again." It was not appreciated; the sharp faced nord gave Reynald a look that let him know just how impressed he was with his idea of mercy, too enthralled by the idea of a Skyrim free of Cyrodiilic influence, "Fine. The door will remain open to those wretched elves you seem to hold in such high regard, but I won't have my men stay there hand an inch if any resist." Arngier kicked his horse off at a trot, towards the two hundred veterans he'd brought from the south, all of them the very idea of a nordic warrior.

Holding axes both long and short hafted; all of them wore the traditional mantles of heavy cloak riveted with thick plate across their shoulders and neck; intersected with light padding so that they could bring their weapons to bear overhand. They were in all bearded and rough looking; with long tufts of hair hanging out from beneath their own ornamented helms, men of more years than Reynald had seen so far in his own life, with many of them having seen the great war itself, hardy and blooded in all surely, the exact sort of men you needed to storm a city.

The exact sort of men who were use to killing; so much so that they would not quite recognise surrender when they see one, or care to accept it, this battle had the potential to end in a bloodbath, though it would be by his own damnation that Reynald would see it come to pass.

Nothing could be done for it at the moment however, so all of them newly arrived and held up were relegated to awaiting the arrival of the leader of the Dawnguard, Reynald's least favourite militant organisation devoted to the killing vampires however or wherever they found them.

There place here was not apparent to the masses however, only the commanders knew that their men inside would be the ones to unbar the gates and allow them to claim back Windhelm. It took them well into the second watch before the small party arrived however, by then Reynald and Ralof had foregone their horses, instead opting for food and drink around one of the many campfires providing relief to the army just beyond Talos's great effigy.

They came by the eastern approach; a road that was besot by dangers on either side by the vacant moors and the opposing dwarven banks, only five strong the party came at a trot despite their lack of numbers, all of them cloaked and hooded with only their steel showing.

They were led across the camp that stretched less than two leagues; through the rows of tents and campfires towards Ralof's own pavilion, dismounting they came forward and presented themselves before Ralof and Reynald together, though they were hardly bowing in respect or going to their knees.

It was hardly suprising, Isran the leader of them was little more than a savage when faced with the undead he hunted, barely courteous to those that were not, extremely fanatical and equally as capable with both tactics and direct warfare, Reynald held a healthy dose of caution around the redguard, haunting with his starlight gaze with a face containing all the fierceness of a mountain cat.

His companions were a mixed bag of capable and raw looking, dropping their hoods to reveal them all as nords, one a grizzled veteran with more scars than hair upon his face or scalp, two males that were similar in appearance to him, narrow faced with steely grey eyes, strong in body and long limbed yet only at the beginning of manhood.

The fourth was so much of a shock that Reynald jumped up in surprise, as did Ralof who saw like the dragonborn eyes of startlingly bright orange eyes, almost like a gaze of molten fire, "You travel with strange company Isran" Reynald said first, sounding less calm than he felt, knowing those distinct eyes and the being they belonged to.

"Peace Ralof!" he told the commander who had almost reached for his sword, "This is the vampire I told you about, the one found in Dimhollow" his hand relaxed at that; though it did not remove from the hilt "Why are you with her for Isran? I'd thought you'd rather have her head on a spike than by your side."

He wasn't wrong with that assumption, watching Isran grunt and then spit into the fire separating them, distasteful as always "You're right about that truly, however I am strangely - disgracefully indebted to this foul creature" the redguard said with as much enforced civility as anyone had attempted to manage at any time, "Her brood sent a small contingent of thralls and vampires to assault my keep. Perhaps to eliminate us early from the game. We were warned however by your…_friend_ here, and given enough time I managed to plan a surprise for them." "Why?" was the only response Reynald could muster, looking at the vampire that served as his brief prisoner with undisguised shock?

She didn't seem to have much answer at first either; at a loss to explain such a critical betrayal, "Can we talk about this alone for a moment?" she finally asked to which he agreed, hardly afraid of one lone vampire; provided that he gave enough room for her to be thrown away if she tried anything.

He led her into the pavilion of Ralof's which was now in darkness and quite cold, a small flicker of flame from his palm lit up a number of candles around the room, while he offered her a seat around the short table, "I didn't expect to see you again, or perhaps not without facing you in a war agaisnt your father i must admit." He saw that she was as she had looked before, a pure breed nord as he'd ever seen one. She had the strong and angular countenance all nordic suitors valued within their women; fair complected, long legged and near as tall as Reynald stood, with an unnaturally calm and steady manner despite her sort.

"I needed to warn you, about what my father was planning to do – it's unbelievable, insane even." She sounded listless to him, looked it through eyes that were usually malevolent in appearance for him, "he's trying to blot out the sun, through some ancient prophecy. I don't understand it, it seems like some wild fantasy, but I found out why he came for me after all these years…it's my blood that will guarantee it. Maybe even my death." Reynald for his part did not laugh at the notion that a vampire lord's dastardly plot could be revealed by something so trivial as a family dispute, but it seemed absurd, wild enough for him to refuse her right there.

She was convincing though, with her head dropped and a wince to her face that suggested she'd rather fight a troll unarmed than tell a stranger that she was afraid of her own father, "Tell me everything, I'd think you'd rather be around myself than Isran." She readily agreed there, leaving him to wonder if even the sternest of vampire hunters did not agree with that sentiment, as she told him about a wide ranging; outlandish and frankly ludicrous idea of some plot to block out the sun.

That was until however; she mentioned the words that a man of destiny like Reynald rightly feared, _elder scroll, _the rather ludicrous, outlandish and definitely _real_ "Were you able to escape with the elder scroll?" he asked almost nervously, forgetting the battle about to unfold.

"I have it in my pack; I managed to take it from my father's guardians." She told him though without a hint of pride in her voice, but rather fear, leading him to wonder just what sort of vampire she was.

"That won't stop him for long though, my father is smart, and he commands vampires in the few hundreds." Reynald let out a heavy breath at that, _a few hundred, divines be good _he inwardly groaned, "Right now he'll start sending them into your courts and castles, have them seduce people of importance. I caught word that the civil war has made for many bandit strongholds and rouge wizards; he'll target them also for their support."

It sounded horrible enough to be true, given their luck of late, the idea of that thing masquerading as a man getting a hold in even the few serious dozen bandit holdouts was terrible, the offshoots of covens like the Glenmoril witchs even worse, "That can't be allowed, I won't have an infestation like this fester. I'll do what I can to stop him" Reynald promised and then rose, going to the rack near Ralof's cot and picking up his blade, nestled within it's thick leather scabbard, "This city needs to be retaken, then Ulfric can persecute his war in the south without a knife in his back. After that I'll make sure your father is stopped" He slung the weapon over his shoulder, secured in a fastening made specifically for the weapon by Eorland Grey-Mane, "How far are you willing to go with this? Men like Isran don't think about of people like you as people at all, he'll slaughter whatever family you have root to stem."

"Will you? Kill every vampire you meet regardless of their age or affiliation, I asked for you because I thought more of you than that rabid beast Isran" she asked straight up, and he thought she might have been more expectant of him, the irony of her calling Isran a beast was tickling "I'll destroy your fathers clan from their oldest lord to the youngest thrall; if they give me reason to do so. However I understand that vampires are a natural fact of the world, no single man has the power to destroy your like."

"And if you did?" she asked a moment later, to which he gave her a smile as he went to exit the tent, "absolutely." He answered, slipping out under the flap to where Ralof and Isran stood, now with Arngier and his captains in attendance.

The night was now well within its darkness, the campfires had been doused to give the appearance of a sleeping force , despite all the hundreds around currently readying their arms and armour for the upcoming struggle, "We're ready to attack the city Reynald, Yohan is readying the milita and giving them there instructions." Ralof told him through the relatively quiet night, every man careful to keep the clamour down "It seems the bowmen across the river will have a good time of it, I wonder if you'll join me in leading the vanguard" Arngier added a moment later, Reynald near scoffed at the idea that he think it would be him that these men flocked behind, "I wouldn't have it any other way" he said instead, the vampire came behind him looking out of sorts, out of place.

He wondered when Ralof or Arngier; on seeing the hue of her vision would question her still living, rather than within their midst, he beckoned her over quietly "Can you do anything about those eyes of yours, there not exactly subtle" he asked as politely as he could manage, despite the fact that he'd just given a slight not only to a women but a vampire on her appearance, her reply was almost theatrically icy, "I can't just turn it on and off; it isn't some akavirian glass lens after all."

He decided that it would be best to leave it at that, explaining it would have to come later, "Fine but pull your hood up, I'll try and get a helm for you; though it'll look ridiculous given you're not wearing any armour. You lot really are too bloody arrogant for your own good you know, follow me." Her eyes crossed and she looked near enough to using her dagger on him, instead however she followed along as he found his horse, tied up near a weapon shack along with horses reserved for Reynald and his companions, "take this horse, a strong beast. Doesn't have a name, not enough character apparently, we'll see who comes out of their shell first." He handed the reigns over, himself mounting the horse he'd claimed as his own some days before, he'd been told it was named Arsur, a silly name for a horse all in.

Now mounted, the pair made their way to where the rest of the amassed officers and representatives sat, most save Isran and his now trio of companions, "You'll be taking her then, to see if there's any truth behind this prophecy?" he asked while giving Serena that same critical look as he always had, Reynald saw that stark piercing gaze as more disturbing as the vampires own orange tint, "it seems too real a possibility to be ignored. I'll take the matter on, there's still a war to fight however, I can't see Ulfric budging on this matter easily – his letters were quite firm that all men will go south."

Isran uttered that sound of his; a guttural moan that told everyone just how idiotic he thought a presented idea was, "He's more of a fool than I thought then. These beasts have already torn up one city! How many more will it take?" He snarled, causing Arngier and two of his captains to draw their swords, "watch your tongue; lest I cut it out redguard" was the warning given, which fazed the Dawnguard leader not a little, "go get bitten. Then we'll talk" he replied in dark tones, Arngier gave him one more hard look before withdrawing his broadsword, "My men are ready, get that vampire hunter to fulfil his end of the bargain. I'll be waiting at the beginning of the narrow pathway." He trotted off then, his men of two hundred following behind in a swollen mess of grey-green cloth swaying below gold polished helms.

Ralof's men were next; three hundred in all of the same troops who had unsuccessfully attempted to challenge the cities occupiers previously, shaven down of the man who were mostly beyond their best years or too infirm to continue, Yohan as always lead them, coming through the throng of men who had began to assemble where Ralof's tent lay, _Not as impressive as Arngier's lot_ Reynald thought immediately, looking at a mass of men not even of common weaponry or armour, yet they were nords all the same.

"To lead untrained men into battle is like throwing fodder upon a fire" He said to no one in particular, watching Yohan mount a great white charger he'd selected as a prize for fishing Agnar Stone-fist's from the enemies midst, the men at least looked confident as the veteran raised his great sword above his head, he led them towards the same cramped path that led to the start of Windhelm's equally constricted approach.

"I'll go with you Isran, upon the mount so that you can signal your men inside" Ralof offered, as the camp began to empty around them, "I'll direct my men from the hill Reynald, my shoulder still hasn't recovered from the last knock it received." Reynald could only agree, "I'll make sure the men don't miss you two much, though you might not be able to stop me from walloping Arngier then."

He turned to the vampire before he set off, sat beside him on the horse looking out of sorts not by her expression, but rather the fact that she held no long blade, nor spear, in fact she was devoid of anything more than a small dagger, her armour or lack thereof was a problem also, vampire or not she'd not stray past more than a few footmen before she lost a foot or even a leg, "You're going to need some armour, you can't go about attacking a city like that." He dropped back off his horse, waiting for her to do the same, "I wasn't planning on jumping into the fray for the great king Ulfric's siege. Still I suppose it can't hurt." She followed him to the nearest armour stockpile, nothing more than a shack of thin wood struck up, with a slate of heavy cloth serving as a door, "Not exactly the kings armoury is it" she said as she delved in, rooting around with a cast about light before appearing a good many moments later, long enough for his absence to be noted.

He was about to tell her to hurry up, before he noticed just how ridiculous she looked in her new battle gear, her crimson slashed sable short cloak and shirt was now stuffed in behind a vest of rusted iron chainmail that went to beyond her hips, fastened by a sword belt that was bereft of a scabbard. Her hair was pulled back under an iron halfhelm that looked as poorly maintained as it had been made, and on her left wrist also was a small rounded shield that looked more for a child than a full grown person, all of this complimented by out of sorts leather greaves, bracers and thigh protectors "You don't have a scabbard for that…sword?" he asked with a sly smile as he looked upon a slight though long blade that looked to be nothing more than a sharp edge, but she only returned him a dry look, "I think you'll need a bigger shield too, we aren't exactly fighting honkers you know"

"I think I'll be just fine, I was fighting before your longest ancestor was even birthed" she told him pointedly as they mounted, "It's not as if everyone can afford a suit of dragon armour after all." He balked at that, "What? You think I bought this bloody armour. Where - the dragons shop? I killed it myself thank you very much." She gave him a look that suggested she didn't quite believe it, "Alright, we'll see about it then in the city" He told her, whipping up his horse and off they were for the waiting army, except it wasn't waiting at all.

Instead of finding five hundred off men waiting along a narrow pathway, against the backdrop of a city in darkness and asleep, they found instead a city frenzied by the sounds of battle, a stream of torches rushing across the bridge like a swathe of torchbugs, _That glory hoarder Arngier! _He knew as soon as he caught sight of the attack already underway, it would be Ulfric's heroic man who took back his city, not the high king running again to the dragonborn for aid, the noise began to rise as the sounds of swords clattering and the gates being thrown open.

He didn't even look up to catch Ralof staring down at him in surprise, instead he pulled his dragon blade free, whipped up his horse not once but thrice, before plunging down the steady decline and onto the frozen ground that dominated Windhelm's surrounding reaches.

Serena was behind him by a few paces, getting across the bridge herself just as the last of the Ralof's own men reached the innards of the sprawling courtyard of Windhelm, a scant hundred patrolling the opposing banks with hooks, ropes and bows in wait.

Deserted save for the roaring mass of men who'd just invaded and some overwhelmed sentries, the massive courtyard of Windhelm was an underwhelming sight for him, Ralof and Arngier's men alike seemed to hold the thought, as this mounted man and that shouted them off in every direction through the passageways and onto the battlements "Yohan!...Yohan! Where is Arngier?!" Reynald shouted to the nord he saw directing men through the doors of the inns and taverns that were located upon a small mount at the very core of the courtyards, "He's taken half his men onwards, to secure the palace and the western estates." That was where he was headed then also, he thought the man wouldn't resist taking the head of this army firsthand, "I'm going there also, good luck! Watch out for the grey quarter, only push them out" he shouted before turning his horse and making for the western pathway that would lead to the palace of kings, unnerved by the lack of challenge to their assault.

He rode along more deserted parts of the city, scant else around but snow and wind to be found before he got through the gate that separated the palace district from the rest of the city, noting that all of them were locked save that which he passed.

It was silent in the city; with the stormcloaks rushing through with only the shake of their armours to give them away, the thought of a trap sprung up in his mind before he realised there were no warriors there to throw them over behind them, in-fact save for the murals; busts of former kings, gardens of frozen willows and ancient stonework there was nothing but the palace in front of them that should not have been there, save Arngier and his guards horses roaming loose near the palace.

"This doesn't feel right" Serena said to him as she came up behind, noting that the almost barbican like entryway was free of anything resembling a fight, "We should turn back, get more of your men" she advised, though Reynald would hardly agree to that this side of the fifth "Arngier and his guards horses are moored at the palace, I couldn't leave him there to rot even if I wanted too." Reynald told her, throwing his leg over and leaping down from the saddle, feeling his blood rush even as the threat of battle was mooted "Let's go."

He led her towards the looming building in front, a great structure that was some few hundred feet high, a great mass of nord stonework that rowed up upon itself and outwards, into two wings that led into the thick walls that provided an encircling layer of further defence.

All of it was laden stone some many dann thick, almost cathedral like with its many vertical slates that let out the only light seen through the otherwise dusk filled courtyard, the braziers around for guards were also unlit, while the windows within the two wide flanking buildings on either side of them promised a wicked end if someone had the notion of emplacing archers there, still nothing stirred however in the immediate area even as cries and the clash of weapons began to sound around them, he made for the thick double gates of the palace.

He tried to push it open, finding it shut against his attentions, "We're going to need a battering ram" Serena sighed in annoyance, but there no time for that he knew, "**_Fus_**_!" _he whispered; almost rending the gate from its supports, coming through the swinging obstacle to a sight that was even more insane than having a vampire at his side.

Inside the palace of kings; the greatest hall of all in Skyrim as it was said, was a scene Reynald would not likely forget.

Against the backdrop of blue slashed grey walls, interwoven with golden embroidery and met by intricately carved stonework along each wall and floor tile, to a throne of polished white marble struck from the snow elves own sundered royal perch, struck over with the finest ancient metals brought from the Atmora, were dark faces in dark shrouds, red eyes piercing out with blades at the throats of not just Arngier but all of his assembled guardsmen, all of them to their knees – with all the anger and bubbling rage that could be expected there.

Dunmer in all; the assortment was three dozen strong, all of them wearing ink black robes and holding a weird and wicked assortment of weapons, including ruddy bladed sabre's glinting in the firelight, three pronged long spears with shear white edges, mauls and spiked thrusting swords, daggers with grey bone for hilts and blades alike.

All of them were dunmer, he hadn't seen one of their race fighting out in the streets in even the few defenders he had seen, it looked like bad news whatever way it had occurred, some ploy that he couldn't have seen coming, the gate was still free behind for him to leave, but he wouldn't be entertaining that notion for even more than a moment.

His hand still grasped his sword ever the gather all the same however, the air was charged with tension – Arngier's eyes cried out even as his voice remained shut.

"A strange thing is it not?" the dunmer upon the throne, voice soft and low said to him, drawing his attention as he stepped further inside, one foot forward with his body offering his left shoulder in a slanted pose, his palm ready to come off his sword guard to throw a shield up if needed.

She was; as expected of dunmeri proportions, the hue of clashing violet-sea green skin that changed in the firelight of the torches, piercing red surrounded by a heavy shade of eye shadow. Feminine looking though lean in the face, owing to hard years worn by many of the cursed dunmeri, her hair was silvery-grey yet she looked as timeless as most elves could attest to.

Rather than the hood or shroud she wore armour of snow white silver, a cuirass that was what he expected was mithril, with thousands of tiny links intersecting across her lower chest and sides, linked to plate that protected her upper body in a glittering piece of armour that would stop nearly all manner of weapons.

It pulsed with a soft violet hue and was matched by gauntlets, greaves and thigh protectors that cast a striking contrast between her dark complexion and the pure white metal, overlapping that was a rich looking royal blue cloak trimmed with white silk.

He noted there were were no weapons upon her felt linen belt.

In all she looked to him as a dunmeri warrior captain should; fantastical looking, capable of looking like a grim champion at one point or a mysterious beauty in equal measure, what was enduring with her however was the myriad of markings that covered her dark features.

"That is, that you would come here, expecting the palace to have been taken. Only to find your men here within my power, does that dishearten you – dragonborn?" the question; which was equally quiet was asked as the dunmer came down off the throne, holding in her hand something Reynald instantly recognized – Ulfric's totem of authority.

"It surprises me I'll give you that. Dishearten is far too strong a word, for what is war without surprise?" he countered, noting the differing symbols and patterns upon her cheeks and brow, a gold laden beast upon her right so intricately woven that its fangs and claws could be seen within the eight sided edges that contained it. On her opposing cheek was a swirling vortex of clashing ink red and black, three heads of one coining spiral. At the peak was a face of reverence; smooth and rounded like many conceptions of feminine dignity he'd seen before, with eyes like a fawn enshrouded below an entrapping cowl. The others were less elegant; one a face of warring fangs and jagged horns upon one flank, clashing with blazing violet inked eyes and swept locks upon the other, the third face was a pure shroud, featureless beyond the almost skeletal features of a face, a visage of the mundane.

"You know much of war I hear, going to and fro across Skyrim and beyond, stealing cities and laying waste to your enemies…or are they king Ulfric's?" she spoke again as he came further into the room, intending to see how far he could get before the dunmer felt threatened, that was until the door behind was heard shutting to his flank, _never cage a troll _he thought,"Our enemies are one in the same, though if you're asking do I follow Ulfric's command, I would say – how can the wolf understand the flight of a dragon?" the dunmer actually _laughed_ at that, long and heartily enough for him to pause, "You're everything I expected in a dragonborn you know. Not only strong looking in that impressive armour of yours, but witty too. I only wonder, are you just witty; or are you intelligent also?"

Reynald stopped at that, watching as she descended from Ulfric's throne, (something the high king would just love he was sure) before she stopped at the foot of the dais, sizing up below him at least two sten, slender in the shoulder with a narrow waist, no blade was present definately, so of course she had to be a powerful mage with such a following behind her.

_I could hit her with a silence spell, bound across the table and have her head_ he thought even as he said "I've been told I was intelligent, in fact so much so that I've been called a worm tongued bookworm, something made more preposterous given that I've slew a god of destruction. Of course that was before Alduin was slain, but then there was the matter of taking Solitude, a fair few people that night called me worse things than a crafty hero. Why do you ask milady, if you so please?" He lowered his blade from a ready position even as he sized up the distance between them, he could just call upon his thu'um to close the gap, but that would leave him alone with many enraged dunmer…

"Selhyse will do for now, and the reason I ask is simply this, why did you side with Ulfric, to bear such a petty king at all? His name is Stormcloak; an old name to be sure, yet yours is Stormcrown." She cast her scrutinizing eyes upon him now intently, while her tone intensified, "You are the heir to the seat of sundered kings; Ysmir, the dragon of the north! you have saved the world and so entitled yourself to stand among the pantheon of great men, the Septim's and the Reman's before, all the way to the Alessian's before who freed man from the elvish yoke of Alinor. Can you really set yourself below some name, despised only for those hard headed rustics in the snow peaks?"

The words hit home; leaving Reynald to crack his jaw and gauge her expression, wanting to catch whatever look of mocking she had as the anger welled up, her face was stoic however. Perhaps she was another oddity of the strange times they lived in, a willing confederate of his who thought she had a better offer than Ulfric, he wasn't so sure as to turn his thoughts away from skewering her though "Even the emperors who fought against Skyrim and called her protectorate realised that the high king held the mastery, could I do any different? Besides; I have offered Ulfric the bond of my word, could I dare break it for fear of the world laughing at me, Ulfric is the lips and I am the teeth, we will protect each other and re-forge the empire anew."

She smiled at him, teeth pearly white against her sooty skin, she was as enticing as a dunmer could be, "You seem to know much of pleasant ideas and false courtesies to Skyrim's _High _King, yet I see him as nothing more than a flop of dead meat, advertising his head for sale to any who would buy. If you are the sort of hero who attaches himself to the cloak strings of such a base man, perhaps you are destined only to be a traitor to the empire – Ulfric the great fools attack dog." Reynald couldn't contain himself at that, not while good men sat at the mercy of these wrongful aggressors, _they are no poor souls of the grey quarter_ he knew, before throwing the room into chaos

His infused his oft hand with _Tiner's Hoptoad, _an old spell of Aranea's that would allow him to leap quick and squat across many breadths, the room thundered **_"Zun Haal. Faas!" _**and swiftly lost itself to battle, dunmer who had been secure now found themselves disarmed as Reynald's thu'um struck them, searing their fingers and blowing their weapons away in a gust of power.

Their minds were struck too, strong willed enough so that they did not turn and flee mindlessly, yet still enough that they lost all thought of summoning spells or going for their cast aside blades, it was all Reynald and the hostages needed.

He leapt the table and cleared half of it in one stride, dunmer and nord around him grappled and strained for cast aside weapons, Serena behind conjured a lumbering atronach of ice that sent the mer and mer alike scrambling, Reynald leapt at the dunmer to knock her into the dais; place his blade against her neck…

A foot struck to his core as he came down however; straight and unyielding even as his mass coupled with dragonplate made to collide against her, he felt himself shatter the long table of fine oak as he slammed against it, bringing his free arm up to block a strike from a curved blade she'd produced from who knows where.

The gauntlet was dragonbone coupled with tough iron, but the strike jarred it towards his face, marvelled at her strike Reynald did not falter in bringing his blade up in an upper cutting swing that dislodged her own from her hand, he rose off the table with sheer strength before rolling his wrists and hacking down to decapitate her; instead his blade met air as she had already gotten outside his reach.

She conjured a short sword and maul; both daedric, unyielding and deadly even against his abnormal protection, but he quailed not an inch as he went forward, thrusting ahead off the front of his feet before altering mid strike to cleave her knee to thigh, her sword blade caught his blade before she forced him to duck under a wide ranging strike from her maul.

He went back again moving quicker and with more agility; using his blade to slash and thrust rather than going for heaving hacks, she was equal to it as she ducked and parried with nimbleness bordering on a dancers grace, and still more than once he had to leap back for fear of a dazzling counter attack.

The battle around them was an equal mess; for every nord who had beaten off a mer there was another subdued with smoke or smouldering flame rising from their prone bodies, Serena and her conjuring had proven fruitless against the abilities those that had fought with this Sehlyse, the palace of kings was going to be torn apart by magicka.

Dodging a thrust to his left shoulder; Reynald almost was bowled over as the maul swept across to shatter his helmet, yet he came under it with the blood rushing through him, cutting across to strike her abdomen before whipping his blade around to cut her shoulder to thigh, catching her blade again as he did so.

It was a second he was allowed before she threw it off and returned a flurry that would force him back, she was too quick, too nimble, he could feel the effects of his recent malady slowing him down, making his blade feel too heavy and his limbs less limber.

She managed to land a strike against the underside of his chest blade that managed to pierce his armour if only an inch, he knew what he needed to do then, and in that second Reynald threw himself forward to knock her down, use his brawn to overwhelm her at least to subdue.

He was mistaken; she did not go for her maul, rather instead she caught his arm in a clinch as he attempted to barrel her over, her feet entangled around his booted own and soon they were on the floor, faces mashed along with their bodies, "Surrender" he ordered against the fracas in the background, thankful that no dunmer looked to throw him off, "I'll ask you to do the same" she testily replied to him a moment later.

He attempted to his free blade, yet felt her arm locking with his own, then own hand pressed against the skin of his fingers, a strange touch that sent a shiver through him.

He didn't notice anything truly amiss until her hand coiled sea-green with energy, his blade flailing and then falling away, darkness and a swirling vortex enveloping him, until the warm throne room fell away and soon he was pitched atop a hilltop fresh with the harsh wind and falling snow of Skyrim.

He was surprised and off-balance, enough for the wiry mer underneath his heavier bulk to flip-toss him over into a steep drop that left him rolling into a drought of piled snow underlain with thorny thickets.

Engulfed in the newly fallen snow Reynald recovered with a sputter, looking up to see Sehlyse standing on the precipice looking far too pleased with herself, resolving to continue the contest Reynald fished his blade out from the snow drowned thicket beside him, casting a spell of _ranger's escape_ before leaping up with a violet hue spurring him on.

Landing within reach of her Reynald's first instinct was to attack; yet they were no longer alone, the twenty or so mer now atop the mountain with them stayed his hand, injured and laboured in their breathing, though still standing for the most, none of Arngier's men were present with them.

"I think the odds are mostly balanced in my favour now dragonborn, so why not lower your sword, lest you wish for my brethren to take it from you." Reynald fumed, throwing up a barrier that while draining his reserve of magicka near fully, which would protect him from all but the most deadly of destruction spells, now a faint tint of silvery-green enveloping him, "I could just as easily blow you lot off the mountain – though I suppose I'd have trouble getting you all right off, I might have to get my blade wet" he returned his throwing his blade up to invite her on, those shadows that were shrouds and long cloaks had became more of a reality around him though, he could make out at least ten within the pale illumination of the twin moons.

"If you want to fight and to die here, by all means; try to blow me off the mountain along with my fellow acolytes, it'll be such a hard thing for us to simply cast another spell of recall" She told him with bite, making him feel a little bit foolish for not considering that fact, "I'll not be surrendering anytime soon; and I wager I'll be able to summon my dragon long before you make an end to me."

He still protested, willing but not eager to fight her in an equal contest or throw her mer from the mountain to gain himself even a little time, but she relented first and put her hands up in peace, "If you put your sword away then we can talk in peace, I didn't bring you here to kill you"

"Then why did you?" he asked, looking about to see that it was a bare mountain they were upon, with nothing but a freezing chill and heavy snow there to call it common, "because you're a man that holds an immense amount of power within Skyrim, and central to Ulfric's war effort. General Tulius nearly cried when word had spread that you'd died, though I don't know if it was from grief or joy."

With her extraordinary look and followers of what he suspected were that nightblade to assassin sort, he hadn't expected them to be anyway associated with the empire, in fact there had not been many such individuals drawn to the services of the empire as he'd heard off in these days.

No persons of unordinary talent often tethered themselves to a sinking mast, "You obviously aren't within the imperial army, and you're not from the synod certainly, that leaves mercenary – which the empire doesn't employ typically. So ill guess you're the remnant of some dunmeri house, trying to gain a stake of land within what remains of your ancestral lands?"

He hit a nerve there; saw it as her eyes narrowed if only for a moment, her fellows also took a step forward almost involuntarily at the words, "You're clever dragonborn, but you're not quite that clever. We're not within the army or the synod, yet neither are we one of the remnants of the great houses who wish to scrape a living on the cusp of what was once our great homeland."

"Then I ask you again, what is your aim, and how do I fit into it?" he asked, but Selhyse instead beckoned him forward with a wave of her hand rather than answer, turning to trudge up the slopes that lead to a high point of the mountain.

Reynald sheathed his sword and followed, seeing that her weapons were banished and none of those shadows moved to follow, up he went through the snow that threatened to fill over into his boots, before coming to rest at her side.

What he saw was the plains of Skyrim and Windhelm as he knew them, from a vantage point far in the eastern hills of Ulfric's own hold, below he could see as far as the two valleys resting between Windhelm and as far as the bogs that led towards Riften, the campsite of the stormcloaks which was alive with men and horses.

The mount of Talos and Windhelm of course, as far as mount Anthor far within the northern reaches, all of it was obscured by shadow and the darkness that even the pale moonlight could not defeat, only Windhelm was lit and clear.

Too lit however to be simple torchfire he saw, as the sourthern eastern reaches of Windhelm – the greyquarter began to catch aflame at an alarming rate, so quickly in fact that Reynald suspected right to it that a nefarious plan had been invoked, "You're firing the city!" he accused while putting a hand to his sword hilt, before she gave him a sharp look that stalled his hand.

"If I tried to torch Windhelm, I would need a force ten times the sizes of the mer I have on hand, not to mention the fact that the mer I have are mostly merchants and old hands." Her voice wasn't so reassuring as to calm his concerns, though it held enough steel for him not to doubt her if only for a moment "Ulfric had my people penned in like rats in the _grey quarter_. The flames cannot spread beyond it, a quant function necessary for a racist such as your great high king"

"It was revenge that brought you here then, to take Ulfric's city and burn the place where he left your people to rot" Reynald answered himself, seeing it as a perfectly plausible thing for a proud dunmeri noble to wish for, but she quickly dissuaded him with a snort of derision, "You would think that I was such a low thinking person as to attempt to fire one district in paltry revenge? When I had all of Ulfric's family and those of his nobles at hand, no – I am not that petty."

She looked at Reynald, turning his gaze away from the city to return her stare, intense in the way that only a dunmer could be, "I was taking the road to our ladies shrine, to make issue on certain things important to my people when I came by news of the taking of the city. I knew that it was folly; for how could such a small force withstand the inevitable reprise from the entirety of the stormcloaks, yet I could not leave here without showing Ulfric he would feel the consequences of his actions, he must know that our wrath can be felt – and he must be shown as the fool he is"

Ulfric as a fool was not a notion lost on Reynald, for while he knew the man was a keen tactician and exceptional soldier he did not rate him as a man to lead a nation, no kings or emperors were made without exceptions for their own hatreds or preferences, men like that could only aspire to be such by way of fraternity.

But still he held the hearts of near all of the chief men empowered today in Skyrim, none could have a better claim to these lands rather than Ulfric, "You have merely made him out for a fool in his own home, though those in all these halls of Skyrim will call you a marauder rather than anything else, he will be incite the whole of the nord people against the dunmer as much as he can, I fear you have not accomplished much"

"I have at least tarnished his reputation, as a king who cannot protect his own halls or provide justice to those that wronged him looks less so than what he would aspire to be. As for him turning the whole of Skyrim against us, I ask you; how can he turn those against us that were already so?" the question was quite just, Reynald of course had known and saw many who turned the blighted dark elves away as nothing more than brigades and troublemakers, thieves and beggers, she'd done away with their place of squalor at least, something he'd longed to petition for a people he'd always admired.

"Is this all you hope to accomplish? Bloodying Ulfric's nose and conversing away with me into the small hours of the night, if you didn't take Ulfric's lot as hostages against him, then I doubt you're here entirely to benefit the imperial benefactors you mentioned" Reynald asked the question with undisguised curiosity, compelled to do so by her reluctance to engage him further, added to by her exulted look and mysterious companions, could she simply be some vanquished dunmeri noble who went this way and that?

She appeared hesitant for a moment, her brow twitched while she let out a long breath that became frosted in the dark night, "I will answer your question if you first answer one of mine, but there can be no deception or mixed words – tell me dragonborn, what do you truly think of Skyrim's high king?"

The words caused discord within his own mind, something he'd asked himself a hundred times or even a thousand, intermingling thoughts of great deeds of valour; intermingled with actions small minded and petty, he couldn't answer that question in a year anymore than he could in a short answer, though he was compelled at least to try.

"Ulfric was and always will be a brave man; spirited and heroic when facing an opposing army, or commanding men from a desperate position, I would pit his cunning against the best of the empire or the dominion at any opportunity." That was the good, at least most of it in part "though at his heart I find him more begrudging and mean, he cut down the previous high king when it was more opportune to ally with him, a killing that I felt fiercely when I met the man wandering amiss in Sovngarde. His actions against Whiterun and Riften were equally as savage, it was only through a threat of dissolution that I managed to spare the captured legionnaires defending Whiterun from sharing the fate of those in Riften." Feeling himself gain conviction, Reynald allowed himself to speak the words he never truly had before, for even he guarded himself against the tongues of his own fellows "Ulfric is open hearted and generous to those that follow him unquestionably; yet he is small minded and unforgiving towards those that have doubts, he scorns diplomacy with possible allies if he does not favour them as a true people and does not take those that opposed him in the war to heart. I myself have found him to be tight fisted on his promises of supplies and soldiers, owing to his jealously and fear of what I am."

Selhyse looked at him not quite dumbstruck, but was still jolted "That is a frank and entirely honest assessment, entirely what I found to be true of the man, a soldier though hardly a shred more of a man than that" she replied, mirroring his own thoughts it appeared, "Tell me then; how can you think a man such as he would be a good choice to rule an entire nation of men? When you had the choice to help rebuild the empire that was sworn to your namesake?"

That was easier to answer, "Because at his heart Ulfric wants to ensure the security of his people, to free them from bondage in what should be their own choice of worship; something all men and mer alike should have the right for. I may not call him a great king, but I will think of him always as necessary one."

Selhyse only shook her head, back to her look of disappointment that had led to their earlier engagement, "Skyrim has been rendered barren by years of war, its men young and old have been spent in the great war and this civil war that has followed, if Ulfric hopes to resist the dominion and the attached empire both by mere strength of arms alone then he will die in having accomplished nothing more than a futile aim" A thought that had occurred to Reynald quite a number of times, a thought that had led him to moving for High Rock and all the ensuing chaos that followed "Skyrim must stand with the empire, realign and provide it with the supplies and men needed for the empire to remain strong. Already there is talk of the dominion moving more of its cohorts across the seas towards Valenwood and sourthern Hammerfell, how will Cyrodiil defend itself if it wastes its strength here in the north?"

"I know what you speak seems sensible and right, it was an opinion long held by a benefactor of mine, a man who could have ruled Skyrim far more justly than Ulfric ever could have if he weren't so less of stock." Jarl Bulgruuf the Greater, the best man Reynald had met in the north, one he shamelessly betrayed "but the empire is crumbling with or without Skyrim, its corruption seeps from the highest offices to the very floors of the lowest district courts. Men sells positions and nobilities to any who can afford them, all the while good servants and officers are thrown out for not fulfilling these bribes. Good people go hungry in the streets; those others unwilling have turned the hills and forests in places of banditry and seeming refuge, the emperors own murder was commissioned by a member of the elder council if the reports are to be believed!" Reynald took a step forward so that he was within two sten of Selhyse, who for her mettle did not flinch or skirt away "I will not use these god given abilities to stem the flow from a wound anything but deserved, nor will I offend the people of Skyrim by speaking up for them to go rushing off into another slaughter, so that avaricious nobles and pompous councillors can sleep soundly at night" He delivered the words with a finality, so much so that he expected her to attack him with his refusal to her idea, the one of which he knew her to be thinking.

"So you would not choose to save the empire, but what then? will you cast her off to be ruined" she asked, genuine in her voice so that he debated just how a dunmer like her could care about something like the empire, a Cyrodiilic based kingdom that had not brought fortune to her people.

"I would say that for the empire to be saved it must be treated like a wound, purged of the infection by boiling and the application of the right medicine. Rather than me cover the wound with some loose bandage, a similarity in what Skyrim and the support of her industry and man power would accomplish, I would instead aim to take the corruption at its source" Selhyse could gleam his mind even before he said it, it was in her keen eyes "You mean eliminate the elder council, the nobility and the men who hold the power across the empire? I fear that you've been misled in your own abilities. It took ten thousand mer with all the greatest battlemages and warriors the dominion had to offer in order to breach the imperial city, a force that Ralof can only hold his homeland with. You could not in five years reduce the empires power so much as to reduce the imperial city to your assault, and if you were what then? Would you soak red the halls of the white-gold palace only to see the dominion march in behind you and bring an end to the rule of men, I think you are better than that dragonborn"

Of course she was right, Reynald was finding her to be a veritable boon of plausibility and sense, where often all he could find was narrow heads and simple minds, yet she thought far too much of the empire as it was, a crumbling house placed upon rotted stilts, "You think only in the power available to me, men and steel and all the nonsense of war. You do not remember of my exploits in the reach and eastern High Rock, where I captured Jehanna and Farrun with little more than a bit of gold here and a spot of guile there? Could you not have heard how I turned Wayrest upon her heels and had her queen submit to sending supplies to the very army that shattered her own. The whole reach shakes; Wayrest is halfway towards aligning with me in order to topple Daggerfell as the prime kingdom of these days, Shornhelm is of the same mind for slights against her prince. The legion there is overtaxed and the orcs have already pledged me their oaths, soon if the divines favour me half of High Rock will align themselves to my cause, so I ask you – where does that leave the empire?"

"Embattled; of course, as it has been since the waning days of the fourth era, yet it has remained through even the dominion and all her fury, through Mehrunes Dagon and the rancour of oblivion, through umbra and the mysterious island. It will survive this dragonborn – it will survive you" she as much as promised him, he saw that this was going nowhere clearly.

"You've spoken loosely on your determination to save the empire, you're detesting of Ulfric and the foolishness of Cyrodiil and Skyrim alike witling away each other's strength, I would like to know why exactly you would to me as you've found me now? By claim of allegiance we are enemies, could you have believed I made such a choice lightly, or that you can change my mind after it has been set, you must know it is impossible."

She didn't know as it occurred, which he thought was a rather pleasing amount placed upon his own importance within the scheme of this conflict, still he felt irritable and restless now as they had stayed on the mountain for some time.

"Let me ask you; before you go your way and I mine, would you change things now if you had the chance, to get away from Ulfric and his poor vision for what Skyrim can be? Would you not have rather founded a realm based upon equal justice and prosperity for all, allying with the men of the west and working with the empire, if even you had to distance yourself from it as Hammerfell has?" Reynald couldn't help but look at her confusedly.

"I was never considered for the kingship of Skyrim, only Elisif and Ulfric had that concern" he dismissed the idea as soon as she founded it, despite the niggling idea it had often left in his head, the what ifs, "I have made my choice, Ulfric is it."

"I wonder if Ulfric will always hold as true as yourself, though I do not think so." She replied with resignation and fatigue both in her tone, "Come then, rejoin my mer and I will have one lead you off the mountain either tonight or in the morn, though I will ask you for one last favour"

"The favour being on the basis of what?" he asked, to which she motioned for him to follow "because I didn't have you killed, or as your pride allows; attempted to have you killed, it isn't a big favour, trust me."

"What is it then?"

"I need a letter of recommendation for the college of Winterhold, a simple thing really." She answered, surprising him, it would not be hard for any of the magically apt to be received within the college, "Days have come and gone where the college has lost many of their number, to unknowns within their ranks with questionable aims, I heard you're a friend of the newest arch mage."

"That I am, an altmer if you would believe it" Reynald saw in the distance over one strait of the mountain, a shadow far in the distance of the night, tall and looming against the light of high braziers, a place of seeming refuge in the middle of nowhere, "I think you'll need to indulge me further upon what you plan with the college, they won't involve themselves in the war, so its more than a little interesting to see what you'd want with them."

"Trust me dragonborn, even a man of your strange tales won't quite believe it."


	19. The Three Failures

Thick walls; a roaring fire, a seat stuffed with fur, along with a mug of warmed wine, all of these were things that could be worth their weight in gold in Skyrim, in those holds were the water froze and the ground was as solid as the holds walls.

Winterhold was one of those holds; in fact it was the coldest of all nine of Skyrim's holds, resting atop a precipice that led to the sea of ghosts in its entirety of brutal splendour. Serena could kiss Mithllon - pointy ears and all, the generous host that had offered his own quarters for the nigh on frozen vampire to rest.

She was so cold; miserly, tired mostly due to Reynald's efforts, who had taken them upon a messy track of Skyrim that had them traversing the near entirety of its northern expanse in just a week.

It had started after the stormcloaks had retaken their city Windhelm, after what turned out to be a brutal trick for the attackers. Happy to charge through the city thinking they were already beat; the reinforcing stormcloak commander managed to find himself at the mercy of the dunmer within the palace, the redguard who had infested the residents district managed to extract themselves out the gates after a bloody engagement, that wasn't even mentioning all the men who had been burned in the firing of the 'grey quarter' – and the men who'd been killed and injured as they fled through the docks entrance.

After Reynald had literally _strolled _down a nearby hill, no worse for wear against a city filled with burnt and bloodied soldiers; not to mention commanders, Arngier was incensed enough for his men to physically remove him, he demanded to know what had happened to the vanished dunmer.

Reynald didn't take orders from _Ulfric's_ _favourite attack dog_ _however. _They'd left that night with little more than a goodbye to his friend Ralof, head in his hands as he heard the words.

On the way Serena had joked that they could pick better cities to get upset over bungling the attack off, but truly she could barely understand what they liked about such a cloistered and drab place.

It hadn't the majesty or brightness of Solitude, a city of the finest artistry and culture that the nordic people had to order, surrounded on all sides by roaring brooks and rivers, rolling hillsides and bustling farms, not to mention the great mountain-scape.

That mountain side was barely a chill compared to Windhelm, a pleasant day compared to Winterhold.

They had been going to Solitude, attempting to find a moth priest, instead finding her father's lackeys and their own, a battle following inside some dreary cavern that had been settled by Reynald cleaving Malak left shoulder through to his lower right thigh, the only real use for the man was target practise it seemed.

Of course he hadn't been satisfied simply securing Dexion.

'Your father's influence sits too far towards Solitude, I don't want the city being ensnared in further plots' that had of course decided it, leaving them to swing down river towards a narrow stream the river had fallen into, Reynald attempting to drop them behind Morthal and towards Winterhold.

Why Winterhold? Perish the thought that he would enlighten either her or the moth priest, who would have fallen from his horse had Reynald not bolstered his constitution.

Then they faced a sally from the nearby bandits, inside a _quaint_ fortress attempting to rob three poor travellers, whether they decided it was a bad idea before or after she'd eviscerated their two berserkers with a blast of ice was debateable.

That had taken up two days after they'd scoured the bandit camp; set it to the torch and continued on past Morthal, taking temporary residence in a small mining colony, the Stonehills.

This was all simply a prelude however; an easing in off the remainder of their bruising trip, taking them over the easy ground of the pale before they hit Winterhold, a place avoided if Serena wished to keep her head Reynald said, another reminder of the _great _lord Harkon.

In her time it was the most powerful hold of Skyrim, Winterhold the city of kings, where all men would go and pay respects to the kings who held fast against the many races of elves that populated the north lands. Now reduced to an almost wasteland like stretch of land, filled with all manner of horrible fates for travellers, the worst among them coming from the snow elves of all people.

That had been strange hearing; the once gallant and fair of all the elvish people reduced to a vicious sub-terrainian dwelling race, who apparently only came atop the world to pillage and slaughter before anything else.

It had disturbed Reynald too, in a way she'd not seen even when she discussed her father's plans or even the outlook of the stormcloak conflict. She couldn't contain herself and asked him what was with the nervousness about his face; making his jaw click, his fingers twist and coil around his unruly beard as he did when he thought she noticed, he'd weighed his answer up.

"I don't know what I'm afraid off" he'd told her, while they began to experience the world of what Winterhold had to offer weather wise, heavy downpours near the entire day, a cutting breeze and twenty sten drifts that reduced them to near blindness.

"Then why are you afraid of it?" she asked, confused as to what he meant.

"Because I don't know what it is. I don't know how many of those creatures are below, not entirely. I know there are hundreds; perhaps thousands, yet I don't know, I don't know what they're doing either - is it random destruction and victims they seek? Or are they planning something" His mind seemed a blur as his voice, and it seemed ironic that it made him appear more 'human' to her.

"What happened to the snow elves was a distatorous mishap on the part of the nords. It was not truly the fault of the dwarves who had always valued science and logic over things like compassion or familarity of race." Dexion had interrupted, having been quiet and flailing for the majority of the trip "If they were to remember things such as this, without their hated masters the dwemer present to feel their rage, it would be bad for the people of Skyrim."

"I'll make sure to speak to the arch-mage about it, for too long the falmer have been allowed to raid without repercussion, yet another enemy to an ever growing list" Reynald had visibly sagged then, looking himself all three days of travel at that point and whatever they'd faced beforehand, the next two gruelling days of traversing high hills and unbeaten paths didn't help any of them either, including their mounts.

They had gave out on the fifth night, one dead in its sleep while another was unable to rise, Dexion couldn't himself go on without his horses aid which thankfully took the least of it.

Rather than simply put it to a short end Serena had used what knowledge of beast control within the illusion magic's to part knowledge of a safe place in its head, towards Dawnstar that was more than half a day off, Reynald had spent a short while bolstering its faltering legs with fortifications that he hoped would allow it back to safety.

"A good pair of horses, bred for speed and toughness. We should have swapped them for trail horses" he lamented as the horse staggered off, before they shouldered their packs and trudged on.

It had been a gruelling few days, any hope of warm food was gone with the cooking gear the horses had carried, not to mention sleeping in their own fur mats, he wouldn't even dare unloading anything upon the priests horse save for the man himself.

The final two days were spent in silence, despite the conversation between Reynald and Serena being conversational by way off their current circumstances rather than personal titbits or humorous tales, it was still something opposed to the slow hours marching across Winterhold's long and ruined trails.

"I think you should petition king Ulfric to make you king of Winterhold. Jarl. Whatever." she'd told Reynald as they had settled down for a cold, hungry rest, her under the arm of the man who was some way broader than her, "He can stiffen a tenth of all the gold and supplies from the other holds. I will help build the trails and roads myself, just to make sure no one has to deal with this again."

Dexion was asleep by then, so Reynald only laughed quietly, impressed at her humour "I didn't think high born ladies built roads. Come to think of it I don't think low born dragon warriors do either." That drew a laugh from her then, his voice was tired and lacking the usual energy that every word was treated to, whether it was a jest or threat.

"Where's your bloody dragon anyway? I thought he allowed you to ride him, or so I hear. We could have flew here you know" she half asked half accused, but he was as per the norm unapologetic "The Winged Snow Hunter doesn't play ferry to the dragonborn, high born ladies or the emperor of Tamriel himself. He'd rather roast you than let you on his neck."

"At least I'd be warm then" she attempted to quop, sounding more defeated and tired, that was the last they spoke, the last time before the last day passed at least, leaving them to reach Winterhold with all the ceremony expected for three weary travellers.

That was of course more snow and hail; intermingling with cutting breezes and icy ground, making her slip and slide at points, yet the outline of the town and the overlooking college was unmistakeable even as a dark night fell.

"We will go straight for the college" Reynald had said, having Dexion leave his horse with the first of only a few inns with some coins to nurse it whatever way they could, they ascended the narrow stone pathways that led to the college as soon as the beast was tied up.

At the foot of the entrance they found something unmistakably arcane at the beginning of the ascending snow white walkway, the only passageway that lead to the similarly white soaked college ahead.

That being two guards, hidden beneath dull grey plate armoured linked with double laid chainmail to gauntlets, greaves and knee plated boots, their faces were obscured by full helms and no joint protection seemed to be afforded.

"These two don't look like the usual guards" Serena said while Reynald sized them up, tired and without the mood for nonsense, though seeing the two wicked great swords held across their shoulders stayed his hand for a moment.

"Stand aside dragonborn - Lady Serena. I was a layman of the imperial priesthood in my youth" Dexion told them, watching him approach the two guards and summoning some power of his learned craft that emblazoned his withering hands with a sparkle of purity, before it engulfed the two guards making them go completely slack, "_Banishment of the foul risings_)" he explained as the armour crashed in upon itself, Serena was impressed but not as much surprised.

She'd seen that the man had some skill in the martial studies as he was enthralled by her father's subject Malak, unwell and frail as he was he'd not soon be resisting a warrior half of her own measure, not to mention the dragonborn.

They had got inside to some surprise from those who had put the guards up, a wizened old nord man Reynald introduced as Tolfdir explaining that those two guards would dissuade casual visitors and enquiries, he'd been going to find the disturbance at the door when he'd met them.

"Ah you've returned Reynald, I thought you might have been still warring in High Rock if not for local news – or the arch-mage's foresight" he said pleasantly, ushering them in with as much courtesy as Serena had ever been shown in a place of the living.

Serena perhaps for the first time in a long time felt at ease with the man almost immediately, his face was ancient and haggard with time, but kindly disposed while his voice was soft and serene.

Feeling the strain more than herself or Reynald; definitely looking it with his slumped shoulders and gaunt face, Dexion could not continue on for one more moment, "I'll show you the student's quarters then, I'll trust you can see yourself to the arch-mage's rooms Reynald?"

He did; leading them through the frozen oval courtyard, an ancient ring of stately stone and many statutes of former patrons and leaders, against a backdrop of snow-swept gardens of anything she could imagine, given it was all laden under a thick veneer of white.

At the heart of the college was a towering structure as high as her own family castle, though there was more pale stone and enflamed window slits than spiked walls and battle scored battlements.

She was hardly surprised of the exotic quality of the arch-mage's chambers, an entirely rounded room that held a fantastic stock of alchemists ingredients in a luscious garden at its centre; with enchanters and labs, jars of every rare to blend insect and bugs fluttering about. Upon the walls there were rows upon rows of staffs that pulsed and beamed even while they were idle; soul gems and shards, daggers and glowering with gleams of many different elements.

"The arch-mage isn't a mer for material possessions – of the mundane at least, I'll find us some robes." Too unsettled in her wet clothes to argue Serena took a seat near the garden and waited for him to return. Dropping the rain soaked bag from her shoulders, she pulled off the damp and awful cloak she'd picked up from the bandit holdout, before finally un-slinging her blade.

Reynald returned a moment later with two robes, both breton blue and amendable to either of their frames, he produced two dry wash clothes as well, "There's a basin near the alchemy lab if you wish to wash down your face or anything."

She near considered stripping to nothing given how dirty she felt "Good to know. Now how about you turn your head and listen out for anyone coming." She didn't wish to impose upon anyone, yet Reynald words were enough for given the exhaustion she was feeling.

"As you command my lady" he replied with that sly smile of his, Serena got to removing her drenched clothes and washing some of the grime and dirt from herself, especially her feet which had been subject to boots that had long been shorn of sealed soles.

She felt tired and weary as she finished, but the soothing off her feet and removal of her damp clothing was such a boon that she could smile as she buttoned up the blue robe Reynald had found for her, not a bad fitting in either the length or for fitting around her waist.

It was Reynald's turn to refresh himself, though he would apparently he damned if he didn't incite her some way in going about it, "help me get rid of this armour…but make sure there is have no lurid business on your mind" he gave her a sly grin, hands open for her to help him rid of the now muck and sweat soaked dragon armour. "You sometimes make me wish I sided with my father" she bit back in an annoyed tone than she'd fully meant.

"Vampires do have a better dress sense than me, I'll give them that" he replied, pulling free the straps of his gauntlets that dropped to the floor without ceremony, "They'd certainly not have to spend half the night taking off their armour - they don't wear it after all." Serena began to help him un-strap the myriad of plate and scale that was brought together with dragon skin and leathers, "I suppose you lot could have your thralls carry you about on yours backs, no walking or traipsing over hills and mountains"

She fought the urge to dig a nail into his now exposed shoulder; hidden under a worn linen shirt, "We use horses just like everybody else." Off came the armour from his waist up.

"I've never seen a werewolf use a horse, or a honker for that matter" Serena pinched him on the arm; glad to see him wince and complain, "you can do the rest" _He smells as bad as his humour_ Serena got back to her seat, trying not to watch Reynald as he went about relieving himself piece by piece of his fantastic protection.

Seeing him into his otherwise drab clothes of tanned breeches and a linen shirt, Serena could see that the man was in rude health, his muscle pulling at his shirt and breeches as he went about undoing the fastenings, something she expected given his standing as a warrior.

He was certainly as impressive in the body as he was with the sword, having witnessed his glimpses of his fine skill against the dunmer within Windhelm's palace of the kings, not a butcher or a power hungry villain - the sort of which she'd always known enough about to despise.

If he wasn't so irritating or so adverse to her sort, she'd look at him as more than some war chief looking to catch her father back on even terms, perhaps the friend she'd been looking for in all the years spent disappointed among her father's power jostling subjects.

It wasn't as if vampires belonging to a murderous bloodline were overflowing with offers of friendship, even a person to share the day with. If she ever wanted to make an attempt at counting a star pattern, or climbing atop one of the five peaks of Skyrim, she'd be doing it alone.

"Hold on a minute; you're not going to do that in front of me are you?" Serena asked in a near panicked tone as he peeled off his linen shirt, "I'm not allowed to wash some of the sweat from myself?" he asked without the least bit of guile, too innocent by half.

"I kept it above the waist for my own dignity; you can do the same for your own." He laughed and went about washing down his arms and chest, along with his neck and face which had collected most of the dirt off the trip.

He turned across her; exposing his left side as he soaked his under arm, shocked she couldn't help but gawk; seeing his ribs black and bruised to the point of sickness, "What is wrong with you?" she couldn't help but ask, disturbed at how long he could have possibly travelled with it.

He seemed hardly bothered himself though, looking down as if he'd forget about the black swath of skin, "A parting reminder from the world eater. Alduin was a being unmatched in this world, it's just one of a pair of…reminders he left me with."

"Where is the other reminder?" she asked, only half knowing of what he spoke, world eaters and the name Alduin not familiar to her.

"If I'd have taken off my trousers you'd notice by now, maybe next time." He finally put the robe on, fitting him well save for a lack of length to his ankle leggings, "It'll do if it's dry." was his reasoning, leaving them there to wait.

The next hour or so was spent there, Serena looking through the different ingredients that had been gathered near and far to some great length, while Reynald studied an aged but well maintained tomb.

"What's in the book?" she asked as she settled off looking through the different types of staves.

"Ink formed into words" he replied dryly, causing her to give him her _evils_.

"If you must know; it's a transcript from the words of lord Vivec; annotated by an unknown source, very knowledgeable it seems for the detail. Written by a hand well versed in the lord's mind; or perhaps well put together conjecture."

"Lord Vivec?" she asked confused; yet another name lost to someone removed from the eras, Reynald sighed and put the book aside, "A very powerful being who attempted to unseat the daedra as the deities within Morrowind - or Resdayn, you'll need to be getting up on your history when this conflict finishes."

She knew that she would; as even someone who did not enjoy the books she'd relish seeing how the world had shaped in her absence, how this empire and Skyrim had fared, what this conflict meant and what the great war had been.

She'd a whole lifetime of catching up to do.

They waited no longer after that, as the previous greeter to them came in with a small feast of recently roasted meats; oily pheasant and tough beef, added to by a broth of vegetables and a half dozen frosted bottles of ale.

"The benefits - few as they are - of living in a place as cold as Winterhold. A mage can fire a spit and rip apart the meat with a stitch of telekinesis', but only the cold of the north can frost ale this well" he told them, placing the food down upon a table that Reynald had hastily cleared.

"Drink and eat your fill Reynald - my lady, you'll need to be reasonably sated before you meet Mithllon." Reynald took himself away from the table at that, while Serena only looked over shoulder with half interest.

"Something the matter?" he asked concerned, to which the man sighed and placed a hand upon his brow, a seeming attempt to rub the wrinkles free, "I wished that you could have waited to find out until after your respite, but life is seldom to our making."

"As you know the he arch mage has been concerned for awhile, he's always been able to interpret the stars. Just recently he saw your manifestation; the great tri-star, that which is the representation of the Shezarrines come into conflict with the cast of Molag Bol's own thundering crescent. He'd thought surely that it spelt off your near death at the hands of the vampire leader in Dawnstar." Serena put down the fort absently grabbed in hand and looked at the mage fully now, _that_ name always caused a cold tremor to sweep through her.

"With your companion here so truly a vampire – a daughter of cold harbour no less, it seems that the influence of Molag Bol was not yet fully wrought. What's more Mithllon has only since reported that he has gathered a more troubling reading." Serena never was one for the fates and divining, she'd seen her father fall to such loose concerns, but did the stars lie?

"What is it?" Reynald asked now fully engaged, Tolfdir fought for the words for a moment.

"Mithllon hasn't been in the midden, but rather meeting with an old friend of his from the south; Drelas as he goes by. Just a day ago he saw that your manifestation was not only being intersected by Molag Bol's influence, but ensnared by it. But then that does not realise the extent of it, a further influence; that of the old belt of those northern stars that always belonged to Shor and Kyraneth - the two stars of which nordic royalty aspire from, flared brightly to your own."

"Nordic royalty…you think Ulfric is plotting against me?" Reynald again asked, doubtfully this time, "Drelas the friend I mentioned has brought word, one hundred men being lead up through Whiterun's hold to your companions own doorstep, demanding information about your whereabouts. Knowing that you were no longer in Windhelm; nor in Whiterun, and having sent riders ahead to check the cities west to Solitude and Markarth, they determined you must be here in Winterhold."

Reynald looked shocked; stopping for a moment in sheer confusion, "Why?" was all he could muster.

"It seems that days ago a cadre of assassins - more notably vampires attempted to assassinate the high king, between the narrow passes connecting the rift towards the reach. The failed but only barely; for Ulfric had lost an eye perhaps it is said, while the key assassin managed to export himself away."

"The key factor is that on their persons was a detailed instruction that the assassins where working in unison with yourself, already said by Arngier Stone-wall to have a vampire in your retinue, towards their complete infestation of Skyrim - the obvious thought being that you had fallen under their sway given your grievous wound-"

"Not to mention the miraculous recovery" Reynald interrupted.

"Quite. Now Ulfric is sending these men to force you south; he fears that with the influence you wield is too great, if you were working with the vampires then you could bring down the entire north without a sword being raised." Reynald outright scoffed, shook his head and then let out a string of utterances as vile as Serena had ever heard.

"That twice damned – frozen hearted bastard. Tell me Tolfdir when Drelas received this information, did he hear any news on Ulfric's victories or defeats?" Reynald's question it seemed to the point, for Tolfdir's eyes showed some recognition to that "Indeed he did, he said that Ulfric on hearing that his men on the eastern flank despaired at having heard of his demise; rode fiercely through the night with five hundred horsemen. He reached the battle at the imperials right flank just as they had near routed the Stormcloaks; throwing them into disarray and routing them back across the lake."

Reynald turned and took a seat, grabbing one of those ales brought in and pouring himself a large mug of the frosted looking ale, "I see what this is now. Ulfric has just beaten the legion back; that had to rely on speed and capturing ground to resupply themselves – as Falkreath is notoriously forested and lacking in grains. He's negated any advantage they had in breaking free and marching to entice popular rebellion."

"Furthermore he's put the claim of recapture of Windhelm upon one of the oldest and staunchest of his supporter's families. The blame for the reverse now rests upon my shoulders most likely, and he thinks he can win this war outright now that the legion has lost its momentum and only chance of good supply. He guesses he can storm your father's castle and end the threat right therein, so now he's going to deal with what really keeps him up at night."

It was the wizard's turn to looked confused, with Reynald explaining with words that looked distasteful to say "Ulfric is jealous of me; or more aptly afraid of what I represent, that being that while he is but a king and man like any other, I am the dragonborn - Ysmir incardinate" he grimly let the last few words out, another name to mean nothing to her "The man won't admit it to anyone, but I know his mind. He does not wish to return to the days where Skyrim bows and scrapes beneath Cyrodiil and emperors - men who meant less than anymore than the rest of us after the last Septim died."

"You think he wishes to eliminate you?" Serena now asked, hating the sound of a political feud approaching, Reynald nodded without hesitation, "Not by having me executed or killed on the way south, I doubt any man despite their leanings would ever dare. Rather he'd make me look like a demon of oblivion most likely; Levy charges that that I have been overtaken by lord Harkon's influence."

"At best he would make me swear an oath of non-interference in Skyrim's affairs, at worst he'd cast me in jail and ransom me to my men in High Rock, to cripple their own élin and allow the imperials to waste themselves crushing my army." She was dubious at first, thinking perhaps he was far too paranoid for his own good, a measure often amplified by men's own sense of importance.

"What is it you intend to do?" she wondered, half expecting to see him morph into that incarnation of dread her father had displayed so quickly in his anger.

Instead; without the slightest hint of fear or apprehension, nor anger or malice he answered "I intend to dig into this food, discuss matters with Mithllon, and determine the best part of this prophecy when Dexion is suitably recovered. Then I'm going to settle the threat of your father." He looked calm, everywhere except his eyes, more the blue of a stormy ocean than a scenic sky, "What of Ulfric's men, they'll surely catch up with you."

Absolute arrogance laced his voice, enough to make her balk at him, but no hate "I didn't get here by trifling with backwater raiders and learning spell-castings from mummers, I mastered the thu'um and upset the very order of time. Ulfric's men may come in one hundred or one hundred times that; but they will not lay a blade or hand upon me."

"I'll come for you in a little while, I would say that you rest your mind for what's to come" Tolfdir excused himself, leaving them both to enjoy the food in front of them.

Delicious and in great measure Serena ate her fill and then more, similar to Reynald who devoured near the entirety of the beef like a man starved.

Sated with hunger of the mundane sort; still so by the generosity of the raiders she'd slain for her more demanding requirements, Serena had a few cups with Reynald as they waited, he looked very much lost in thought.

"A diren for your thoughts?" She asked after a long silence that felt awkward even if he looked lost to space, it caused him to look at her; turn away, then stand up and begin to pace around the expanse of the room, "Chicken Liver" he said as he went, not seeing the queer look she gave him as he went.

They did not wait much longer; for as Reynald completed his encirclement Tolfdir returned, asking them to go to the arcanaeum, a great library within the college.

Reynald followed at the word; leading her down through the narrow stairwells of the place, across the aptly dubbed hall of elements and into another equally expansive room of the college.

Circular like the majority of the colleges places of residence, the room was filled with all the common fare expected of such a well maintained establishment; that being high ceilings, well toned walls of precisely paved and engraved stone, littered around with the great eye Sigel of the college upon banners and across the engraved rock.

There all around also was row upon row of sealed shelves for what could have been thousands of books and tombs; annuals and transcripts.

At the very centre of the room was a declining level that held right seats, all filled saved for three.

In those that were filled contained an unusual gathering of men and mer, of which Serena held doubt about and those that she knew already.

At the head was the arch-mage Mithllon who she knew only with a look, a mer of Alinor who was splendid looking even amongst such colourful associates. He was tall even as he sat, with skin like gleaming silver and long tresses of richest auburn hair, his face looked refined and his eyes kind, as blue as lake Transamere.

Covering his slender frame was a simple white linen robe frayed with deep lavender, complemented with unadorned felt slippers.

He greeted them with a smile and gestured to the seats directly facing his own; Tolfdir went to sit at his left while another distinct looking man sat at his right.

He was wearing a garment of entirely white linens; fashioned into a loose robe, with wrapped leggings and sandals strung up and tied around his thick as oak tree legs. On his face; which was like that of a great cat he had two opposing dragons painted, ruby red and imposing like his almost maddened gaze.

"Welcome Reynald; dragonborn; saviour of Skyrim – and my old friend. It is truly good to see you alive and well in these grave days" Mithllon said with a singsong quality to his voice, mirthful eyes betraying his delight.

Next he looked at Serena and gave her a small nod, as Reynald took the lead to take a seat in the small counsel, "A pleasure also lady Serena." he said to her as she did the same, confused as to whether she'd told Tolfdir her name.

"Allow me to introduce my fellows here, who of course have heard of your exploits Reynald; and who have been adequately informed of your companions ties to this new crisis" He said to both Reynald and Serena, making her wince at her inclusion with her father.

"This bold looking fellow here is brother Rang Strenn from the imperial city, a monk in the service of the one if you believe it" She certainly did not, the man looked to be quite easily twice the weight of Reynald, with hands like shovels and shoulders like that of a troll.

"A pleasure brother" Reynald and Serena politely greeted, Rang quaffed in return "So this is the dragonborn – slayer of Alduin the great terror? I can't believe it! Stories where that you rose higher than the largest berserker – slew with your normal speech – and where so fearsome in battle you could defeat an entire cohort."

"I fear you're disappointed then brother Rang, I am tall for a breton, swift tongued and quick skilled with the sword and spell, yet not to such a degree" Reynald glibly told the monk, who laughed for his explanation being so clever, "You're not much in the body compared to me; but I'll say your quite a bit cleverer, perhaps that's what the gods favour."

Mithllon then motioned for the other three she did not know; all of them dunmeri, or at least thought she did not, until she caught the eyes of the central figure, slunk in between her two likenesses.

A golden cheek against the tri-marking darkness of the other, it was the commander of the dunmeri who'd been in the palace of the kings-

"This is lady Melisi; from remnants of one of the oldest great houses in Vvardenfell, a dunmer who commands the unflinching respect and loyalty from all dunmer in Skyrim and beyond. A key ally for us; even if you did not reckon for it in your recommendation." Serena looked at Reynald and saw that he was not even a little put off by talk of a recommendation; giving credence that perhaps Arngier was right to be angry, "She is here to speak for all the dunmeri now within Skyrim."

"To her right is Hllaren of the high tower; leader of the sacred swords, mercenaries of some renown as I'm sure you're aware" Reynald greeted the man with some praise, Serena gave only a smile. He gave them a polite greeting a rasping tone that a wicked slash towards his jugular had done slightly more than add to the myriad of scars upon his person, which was loosely covered with leathery-grey armour, completely organic and _foreign _looking.

Mithllon introduced the final guest; a dunmer with a stern looking face even for their sort, eyes pitted and soulless. His skin was withering grey to almost the appearance of the chimer she'd seen them as "Drelas of Whiterun formerly, an old friend of mine who has many ties amongst the errant wizards of Skyrim." He treated them to nothing more than a stiff nod, not the sort who looked for pleasantries.

Reynald would have had a better time measuring them, a group strange in its entirety given Rang's inclusion, Mithllon and Tolfdir were hosts after all, while the rest were dunmer.

"It would seem then you have sellswords; spellswords, and the voice of all the dunmeri in Skyrim, a people not long displaced from Windhelm. I'm beginning to suspect your wishing to more than act as rustics in seclusion Mithllon?" He was certainly on to something, for this school was just that – an institute of magicka and the arcane studies, there where no training drills or great armouries for battlemages like she'd seen in the ruined castles of her father's old enemies.

Caught out; he admitted that all of them where there for more than matters of the college, "Truly my friend is right; for who brings such valorous braves and prevailing wizards here to discuss the mundane? Truly we are here to discuss the future of this college, the part played by all of you in it' continued existence, and of course this vampricic threat. I ask you all now, are you ready to continue?"

They all assented to that, and he began by producing a large folder which contained three newly crafted books, plain olive green on a fine laminated oak wood backing, "This is from the offices of the Synod headquarters in the imperial city itself, taken by brother Rang on the receipt of finding the beginnings of a plot there, Formed in order to do away with the college once and for all."

Now Serena was no friend to either the college or the Synod; in fact she had no clue as to what the Synod was. So she only could listen as Mithllon described in some detail a plot; reaching as far as magister level in the Synod to do away with the college, on the receipt of having found out the level of interest from the thalmor in the recent discoveries found inside Winterhold's sphere of influence.

Now that the empire had lost its grip, it appeared that these synods had been made desperate to reassert their dominance in the formerly imperial spectrum, "Cretins the lot of them. I could decimate their entire leadership if I but had the right opportunity" Drelas sneered, while Rang spat quite distastefully at the mention of the thalmor.

That was a name she was familiar with; as all men within these lands seemed to scorn and spit on it, Mithllon detailed how Rang had found the plot and had reasoned against it, only to have near been killed by an crafty spellsword in the employ of the Synod.

Owing to a striking level of decency to which she'd never truly been privy to the monk had travelled the entirety of the way from the place she knew as the White-gold Tower; to as far as Winterhold, the threat as Mithllon had said "Was far too real now to ignore the designs of both the thalmor and the synod, who play off against each other like quarrelling spouses. If the imperial army manages to overthrow king Ulfric and his rule then I fear the college will be lost amongst the ruins."

"You propose to interfere then - in a war?" Reynald asked first dubiously, which seemed a good question considering this school had nothing resembling a standing force of battlemages or even destruction mages, by all sense it's numbers couldn't exceed thirty in its space.

Tolfdir answered that, gravely but clearly stating his words "We will not send neither master nor novice onto a battlefield, as we do not seek to become known as confederates to king Ulfric. Rather we will - or should I say have already began to offer more help to the people of Skyrim, to show that we are prepared to help in more than we have before."

"Our best healers and her two apprentices have been sent on the road to help alleviate the pressure emplaced upon Dawnstar, while on the way she will distribute cures for maladies associated with vampirism and those vile creatures which they like to keep."

"A war off popular favour then" Milisi; or Selhyse approved.

"Quite so, in this way we will gain favourable mention in the hearts and minds of Skyrim's people, as well as some favour in the eyes of her king. You see in order to attempt a matching of the Synod; a poor organisation admittedly, then we will have to expand ourselves. It is in that mind that by the leave of king Ulfric, we will open up guild halls in the cities of Whiterun, Markarth and Solitude."

Met with in part by Reynald with surprised but eager debate; or Milisi in the way of determining it doomed to fail, 'nords do not like magic, nor will they stand to face another disaster of Winterhold" they argued, but Mithllon and Tolfdir reasoned that it was a way in which to combat the slide of a great majority of Skyrim's magicka gifted people away from lawlessness and degenerate pursuits.

"These new halls will be different from other incarnations of magicka based guilds, there will be no open necromancy or those afflicted with things such as the beast blood or vampirism allowed to inhabit them; not to mention a strict legislature towards the rules and pursuits of such an organisation." Mithllon stated to her slight chagrin, a guild based upon magicka sounded as good a place as any for her to go provided she finished this war "The plans will continue regardless of your say; for these are our halls and we must look after them as we see fit."

"My father doesn't make difference between mage or soldiers, innocents, it'd be best for you to expand now" She briefly wondered if any of them would look to question her on why she's turned traitor on her own father, but not a one questioned her words.

"It is settled regardless as I have said; rather this was but a way to infer what you have come looking for, for aid in the rising vampire crisis" Mithllon directed his words at Reynald, "By now I have informed all who gather here that you are no longer an ally of the king, sharing a common bond with the dunmeri here it could be said. There is equal measure to be gained here for both yourself; and the prospects of Milisi and her quest to restore her people."

"I require warriors in as much a number to settle accounts with a vampriric faction possibly some hundreds strong, I don't see any armies laying around in wait Mithllon – with all due respect to you." Reynald dubiously returned the now inquisitive stare of the leading dunmer.

"I do not see any daedric totems here either to satisfy my needs either" She responded to Reynald, eyeing him up evenly "Yet things do not always appear as they are at first sight. How does some forty or fifty warrior's sound, mer of the sacred swords and the nightblades of lady Boethiah sound, at your call when needed?"

Reynald judged that statement upon his options with a stoic expression, "I suppose there is a price for such quality?" It turned out it was a high price, for when she said the words _Mehrunes Razor_ Reynald visibly became upset, "You cannot be serious, to think that I would release such a thing? Never will in the one hundred and so years it would take to dissolve to oblivion and back again would I allow it to take another life."

Mithllon attempted to calm him, telling him of the aforementioned cause of distress "It is not for you to claim an artefact of one of the daedric princes, for they are what the daedric prince's choose to influence this world with. Give up the dagger and it will claim as much men or mer as those who choose to wield it, you'll gain yourself the sort of warriors required to storm such a horrific sort of fort."

Rang led the charge also, bawling "Those dirty princes are a lot of scum in my eyes too; as we both stand great heroes can we not stand together in such thoughts? However I've known that these weapons are as timeless as their creators themselves, take the men! Slaughter the vampires! One deed will make for the payment of the other."

Tolfdir and Milisi urged him that indeed he was 'circumventing the natural order of things' until he finally relented, "Tell me what you will use it for, tell me that at least?"

"I will use in an exchange, for a friend at the mercy of a powerful being. This is no mission to receive a cruel weapon, one I would rather sundered as _Dagon's_ realms" She answered attempting to look forthright and daunting, though she could only manage desperate to Serena's eyes, "I would say next time you're friends should avoid displeasing such powerful beings" Reynald all but growled, sighing he nodded and looked to go into a mood.

"I buried that murderous blade after it claimed the lives of five innocent farmers, a sell-sword only looking to feel a life he'd saved in hands not to mention. It's bloody bitter in the mouth" Reynald expressed more of his grief through his eyes than his words, which flickered every so often to Milisi.

Drelas the previously silent howled at that, "Oh please; I've heard of you dragonborn like everybody else – dragon killer more like! You've slain man; mer and beast alike in the what? Dozens, hundreds perhaps, what weapon is used is of little consequence." Serena agreed with the sentiment, yet Reynald gave the mer a look of severity, but Drelas only snorted derisively.

Mithllon looked relieved, a small smile on his face as he stood up with hands beckoning the rest of them, Serena's own felt cold ridden and stiff. "Let us not fight amongst us, but we all know now what must be done. Reynald will relate the information as to where he has holed up Mehrune Dagon's great blade, Milisi; Drelas and Hllaren in return will promise their blades and bodies to eradicating the vampire threat, prepare as you will."

Drelas was the first to retreat; with Hllaren along with him vanishing through the doorway without as much as another word, Tolfdir explained that he would be overseeing further planning of their venture before excusing himself.

"I like the way you lot get things done in Skyrim" brother Rang told them, getting up from his seat and stressing every muscle in his body "The synod – the church off the one were all talkers, give me a good quick way to the fight any day!" At least a head taller than her the man was a veritable beast, he made even most nords look weaklings in comparison.

Reynald focused rather on what occurred in the meeting in his thoughts and words, cornering Milisi just about "What exactly are you up to? Just the other while you were torching city districts and inciting popular rebellion, now it's saving Skyrim from vampires?" Reynald turned on Mithllon and asked him straight why he had taken the dunmer into his confidence.

He sounded like she had when she was before the ritual that had granted her such extraordinary life, petulant and above all frustrated, Mithllon for his sanity came out from his reverie and told Reynald very soothingly "Victory and defeat, loyalty and betrayal, these things are constant in a time of conflict. Allies like Ulfric come and go; so do legions of men valorous and nameless alike."

"I believe Milisi is more than simply a narrow minded sort, I wish for you to trust me in this." But Reynald only shook his head and breathed deeply, as if expelling all his fear and regret.

"That man has reduced me to a fugitive in the lands I saved from the very jaws of destruction! Is there any man more despicable than Ulfric Stormcloak? He would have my head and drink the blood from my veins if it gained him a tenth of my ability." Milisi rather than Mithllon attempted to console Reynald this time, a strong move considering she had previously attempted to goad him into a fight.

"Ulfric stormcloak is a petty man; not likely to ever accomplish anything truly great or noble, you are the very incarnation of man's greatness. Proud; boastful, though strong and keen minded, there is nothing greater in you than your fair nature and nature for mercy, as any could see in your ascent." Words that sounded a lot like false praise looked genuine enough through the unapologetically dark; yet noble in a sort face, and true enough Serena could hardly argue.

She'd only ever witnessed the furious anger that exploded rather than boiled beneath the surface, as her father turned to the merciless vampire lord she couldn't remember anything past.

This man at least had a heart to stab at, a sore quality needed, he had spared her – perhaps simply to further his own ends perhaps, yet he took her upon his side with little more than her word, she didn't even need to speak half of the trussed up, bitter explanations she'd thought to use to convince him.

Sensing a shift perhaps, Mithllon took Reynald's hand and said to him "Come with me brother, I believe I'll have something that will cheer you up" Reynald didn't hesitate in following Mithllon out of the room, up enough of the narrow stairwell to suggest that they were going to the roof.

She wasn't disappointed, coming out to the windblown crown of Winterhold, snow lying thick to their ankles at the least. Hardly minding since their respite; Serena found it to be quite the view, an unrestricted look to the perma-white peaks of Skyrim's innards, not to mention the mysterious and sadly beautiful sea of ghosts.

Behind her Mithllon strangely; un-expectantly brought a great burst of flame forward from his fingers, billowing out the near the length and breadth of the roof they stood upon.

It turned the snow to whispers of vapour, revealing a circle of the colleges chosen sigil, the eye of Magnus. It was at the convergence of many laden slates of reflective; _dark_ looking metal, a strange condition about it - not quite ebony.

"I've never seen anything like this before...another of the college's great mysteries?" Reynald asked, forgetting his deluge into misery momentarily, Mithllon's soft lips upturned into a sly smile "This is a place of more _intense_ conjuration that those places secluded in the hills and grottos, fit for more than the simple reanimation of rotting bones or decrepit corpses. It is a true place of conjuration, able to summon the rarest weapons; armours, creatures and beings from the planes of oblivion."

A Summoners dream then, her mother's dream for one, Reynald wasn't no conjurer however, "How will this cheer me up?" he asked questioningly, to which Mithllon explained as only a mer of extraordinary creativity thought could "Your despairing because Ulfric has made a move against you, the loss of a true friend is it? I think not; instead rather I think it is the fact that you are now without soldiers, to protect Skyrim and the people you love in actuality. Here is your army Reynald; as much of the daedric warriors that you can field, provided you can master them."

"You forget that I am neither a consideration as your pupil; nor your equal in any discipline regarding the arcane - that's including conjuration. I have neither the time nor required mastery to conjure such a force needed, besides, could you imagine what would be said if I was to be seen marching a host of daedra through the passes? I'd be proving that war monger Ulfric right!" Serena saw the fire light back into his eyes, as he began to pace again across the sweltering roof, but Mithllon wasn't done.

"Listen to me Reynald, as you said you are not quite the master of the arcane - yet can I counted as less than that, could I not with one hand strike down as many men that could be sent against me - could the other not protect myself from the breath of the world eater himself?" the voice of the reserved looking elf changed in an instant, going from reserved to charged in a single stroke, "I have the means to afford you such an army, if you would but prove your skill against one daedric warrior of some renown. That way you will not suffer from Ulfric's lack of support"

Reynald couldn't argue it seemed, pursing his lips before putting another apparent concern of his to the arch-mage "What of Ulfric's men who march here to arrest me? How would you say i dispose of them?" Mithllon only smiled and went close to Reynald; whispering into his ear something that relieved his face.

"What is it?" she asked; not feeling too trusted, which annoyed her.

"A mix of Finn and Farrun" Reynald replied, giving her the occasion to look at him dumbly, "I'm supposed to know what that means." Of course she wasn't, being a recently unburied vampire had many drawbacks.

"Let's leave it to surprise; too often things these days are too plain" Reynald promised to reveal nothing more, Serena blood strong or not felt too withered to attempt to argue.

They retired to a small alcove set aside for guests, rare as they were in one of the adjacent rooms to the student quarters, thick walls, a roaring fire, a seat stuffed with fur, along with a mug of warmed wine, all of these were things that could be worth their weight in gold in Skyrim, in those holds were the water froze and the ground was as solid as the holds walls.

Reynald sat across from her silent for the most, head awash with ideas it looked like, she wondered if he thought about Ulfric's betrayal; was it hurt he was feeling, Or the impairment of his plans.

Did he care about the many people her father could ensare with the setback; each one, or was it simply a game of numbers, could she expect any less of him really?

"You're staring" Reynald leveraged the accusation at her as she drifted off, causing her to shake herself from the revere animatedly, he was far too aware even when his head was bowed in thought.

Expecting a response, Serena decided to be straight to it "I'm wondering what you really are, a caring benefactor of the nord people - just another warlord with more benevolence than the rest about him, It's quite hard to tell."

"When I go from balling about one misfortune into planning my way out of it all the time? I'm afraid I don't have the luxury of having time for all consuming grief, as you say I am a warlord - rudely termed I might add, men of such lofty commands rarely have enough time for anything like one semblance of prolonged moods." He was back to his best, the armour back up even if he wore none, and he'd only been surprised or even hopeless for what was a single moment.

He was not a man of true emotion she thought as she looked at him, too fleeting between the need to protect and the need to assert his dominance, over whatever he thought he needed to right.

Her father had been that man before, not as kind or involved with a group of people as large as the concerns Reynald held, only her and her mother, would he grow as power mad and ravenous if he finally secured the safety of Skyrim?

Perhaps she'd find out if they dealt with her father, lose one man of great power and sage principle to his madness for power, and then see it happen to another.

Her life was not a fairytale, it wasn't even an odd of caution, it was a blood filled nightmare.

She'd left then with her dark thoughts and took to a bed allotted to her, sleeping well into the next day, a good meal followed when she woke, though Reynald was nowhere to be found.

Out with his friend Mithllon and new accomplice Milisi, a mer who'd near enough had his head not many days ago, Tolfdir offered her the use of all facilities within the college to hone whatever weapons she held, a blunt old thrusting sword, or improve her skills in the destructive arts that were negligible behind her ability to force the life from her chosen prey.

Dexion was coming down with everything from a fever to bone rot; in poor health that meant he would be near to useless for the next course of days.

Serena decided to settle the one matter that would remove her from sitting around reading transcripts or long tombs, that being the finding of a better weapon.

She'd only have to be told once that there was an old armoury settled as a storeroom now for her to look through, finding in the back of the dust cloistered room a small back hatch that led to a boarded up expansion, clear to her that these were the sort of wizards who would have little to do with blades or armours.

After an entire watch worth of searching brought her up the prize of a still mostly composed blade, a sword just the length of her arm all counted; pitched at its midpoint to provide a convex at its tip.

It was fine steel and had not rusted in the least, though it's handle once ornamental had since worn away itself, she realised that it was just the sort of weapon she was looking for, able to put forward the momentum of an axe yet still holding a long enough blade to parry with.

She'd spent the next day or so in the local blacksmith, bartering the old thrusting sword and armour she'd brought her in trade for the blade to be rejuvenated, stopping only barely short of influencing the stubborn old nord with the illusion of charm.

It was a necessary distraction that lasted as long as it was needed, for on the day she slid it into a freshly tanned scabbard she could hear the rush of horses outside and men upon them shouting fiercely.

The old blacksmith; a man of some three score years quickly took himself (his prized strongbox and dried meats) into a small holdout room he'd constructed, "I'd tell you to get on now miss, always bad men around these days." was all he said before his door racked shut, Serena went to his half boarded window to catch a glimpse outside.

She could see nothing save the frost of winter and vapour rising from a close by mounts nose and mouth, so instead she took to the back of the shop, dislodged the window and took a leap up onto the roof of the lowly building.

Skulking across the roof and peering out she could see perhaps fifty horsemen; all cloaked and armed with long bows or long hafted axes, calling to any at the college that would listen.

They began to get impatient before she saw Mithllon appear before them, urging calm, "What can I do for you good sirs, who wield the sigil of the king?" he asked with all the feigned ignorance in the world, that has ever been or will be.

One of the men to the front of the college passageway, nothing but a shape of wet fabric and a silver helm to her behind replied not angrily or arrogantly, in fact nothing but stoically "I am Greymar of clan Carrun, retainer of the high king Ulfric Stormcloak, I have been sent here to take the dragonborn; Reynald Manis to the king."

"Why have you to do that good sir, Is there something amiss in the south?" Mithllon sounded good to her ears, a voice of steady concern against a face welcoming and kind, it was not lost on Greymar of clan Carrun.

"My king is worried things have gone amiss for his old friend; so he instructs me to carry him towards respite, word upon the mouth is that you hold him in your walls as a friend would. Tell me; is the dragonborn your guest?" This one was as close to a diplomat as nords came Serena thought, perhaps Reynald was too convoluted by his paranoia to truly weigh the situation, Mithllon had no seconds thoughts however.

The plan went ahead as they saw fit, "I believe he is in the tavern, with his supplies packed and ready to travel south himself. A good day to you Greymar of clan Carrun, a fine man to meet on any occasion" The stormcloak lapped up the words, thanked the arch-mage before directing men to the tavern.

In only a few moments out they came with Reynald between their ranks, looking slugged and jolly despite some four pair of armed men around him, "Our king wishes for you to accompany us to his side dragonborn." Greymar said from horseback, Serena was not sure whether he knew the look of Reynald or not.

The man in front of him was he however; that not quite nordish height, strong yet lithe narrow build, with a fine gold brushed sword hilt coming out from his scabbard, "A pleasure as always I'm sure for king Ulfric" Reynald told them in his animated voice, being helped onto a horse, "Yet I will only go if we visit every tavern on the way. What say you?" he asked as the men began to turn off, at ease and glad for their track to have ended.

"Who am I to resist the greatest hero in Skyrim?" was the reply, which seemed to relax the man as they went.

Serena couldn't understand it; what plot Reynald could have thought involving him handing himself over in the midst of such a crisis was a good one? it was lost on her. Still she waited until the last horseman had cleared before she went for the college, bounding up the college walkway to catch Mithllon.

She did not have to go beyond the walkway as Mithllon had not departed it, he stood with the bulky monk Rang passively, watching to the see the last remnant of the stormcloak pass off in the snow and mist.

He saw her and smiled, amongst words from the baldy monk that looked less animated that usual, "I hope your well lady Serena, your days of rest here are at an end I fear" he said as he approached, not a little flustered in the upturned winds or heavy mists, a rare elf indeed.

"I'm wondering if I'll be travelling alone now, did Reynald just allow him to be taken away after all his talk of _'not a hundred swords or a thousand_', it's hardly the most defiant I've seen of last stands" She was confused not just by that, the way Mithllon's eyes gleamed with laughter upset her also, "Just what is the going on around here? What's the big plot that I'm not in on?"

Rang the hefty monk took a step past Mithllon; his eyes distinctly the blue where as once they were a troubled shade of grey. "A switch as we said, the ability to change one form into another, poor fare for someone well versed in mysteries of illusion" Serena looked carefully at Rang again, a man of features not easily missed for his ferocious look.

He was the same for the most; a face notable for a square jaw, eyes looking to close for the breadth of his head, his dragons were there also. He didn't look have as demented as he did before, always pulsing with vigour, instead his hands and feet were flat and his eyes - they were blue.

"You changed with Rang...swapped him somehow" dumbfounded she took a step to the priest as she wouldn't have before and looked closer at him, she'd neither mistake his eyes that were so distinctive before; neither would she miss that sly grin even upon the man's bloated features

It was so astounding that for a moment she would have quashed it as impossible, before she reminded herself that in this world the arcane was as potent as the mundane.

"I thought you'd be happy I'm still around" Rang - Reynald said in the gruff tones associated with the body in front of her, she could hardly have doubt now, this was Reynald.

A fine ruse; if it took the horsemen some days to work through the disguise, longer if none of them knew the dragonborn closely, "So this is what you had planned? Dupe Ulfric into thinking he has you settled; then what? Take these daedra and hope you can slay my father - take the fight to his own keep?" Reynald laughed that un-familiar - and so familiar (chg) laugh, of course his plan was far too convoluted for that.

"For days you've missed me, since I've been busy settling accounts with Milisi, not to mention the daedra - great warriors of ageless experience - even as distasteful as they are to employ." It irked her that he would work with Milisi, even if it was for his own cause. "With Milisi and her warriors, a daedric small compliment of another dozen; we'll have forty blades who can be counted as elite. With myself, perhaps one or two mages who would be willing from the college to assist us, Rang and the companions left in Skyrim...we'll have near sixty in our force-

"Sixty one if you count your dragon compatriot" Mithllon reminded.

"Sixty elite warriors, mages included with a dragon and dragonborn, it's not a bad proposition" He was right to be sure, her father could only have some dozens of vampires given what she had saw before she'd fled the castle.

But that was not the amount of it, he was wrong to try a frontal assault "You can't just try and blow down the front door; you'll get yourself killed. There is more to castle Volkinar than just my father and his vampires" She blurted it out without thinking how it would look, Reynald for his part looked pleased even with his ugly gait "Do tell." he only said, she didn't hold back in her estimations.

"My father's castle has walls as thick as any city in Skyrim; the gateway hasn't been breached since it was built, that was _thousands of years ago_. He has more than just thralls and vampires, he's been breeding gargoyles long enough to infest the whole island with them, in the ground and laden across the walls - you'll not even reach across the bay if the decide to overturn your boats-

"Then of course there is the narrow bridge we'd have to fight up; making savagery and intensity a better order for the day, negating any skill. The gargoyles could keep my friend Odhaviing busy, and then we might not even be able to get through the gates." Reynald interrupted with as much as she was going to say, "I know it's not quite feasible just yet, but I don't plan marching rank by rank up to knock your fathers door open."

"Then what do you plan to do?" Reynald motioned for her to follow Mithllon and he into the college, as the snow began to fall in great floods, "At the moment we'll get inside, this weather will freeze the bones of Ysgramor himself, as for what we do now...I'll say we hear a little bit more about this prophecy, Dexion is awake."


	20. The Veil of Mereth

Skyrim was falling apart.

Reynald had thought it many times, when the dragons had burned Kynesgrove and Rorikstead in but the space of a few days, when Alduin had eradicated three cohorts of legionnaires for his reverse upon the throat of the world, it had always been great destruction that brought home the thought that a place as worthy as Skyrim could be brought low.

It was now however that he knew the damage was long past the burning of townships or cities, beyond just wanton death and destruction through civil war or dragon attacks, it was the very heart of the people had been torn out in this instance.

It had left bandits and renegades in the place of decent people; savages and butchers where noble warriors once stood, vampires and their ghoulish allies in a similar – if not horribly crueller versions of what forces remained in Skyrim's periphery.

Reynald found this to be true after many days of a gruelling assault upon Harkon's plans's, which had included infiltrating his castle to locate Serana's mother, that in itself had been a bloodletting adventure second to none through any he had ever endured, he was quite sure by the time they'd found her place of hiding he had slain at least half a century of skeletons; ghouls and gargoyles.

This had been a point in where he'd saw these vampires as what they were; perhaps being in the 'mild' company of Serana had diluted his mind, hundreds of bodies if not thousands in stacked bones and overflowing pits to the core of the earth could be found in the innards of the castle, Serana he could see had barely looked at him as they'd passed through the irrigation – perhaps the shame being too great to bear.

That had made his sword fall all the swifter however; his enemies being blasted or decapitated all the more satisfying for him as he went, "Your twice the warrior against things undead" Serana had noted as she followed in his trail, Reynald always fought without inclination of harm or grievousness when he found such vile creatures, there was truth to that statement as morbid as it sounded from her mouth.

Following that they'd found her mother's place of hiding, the _Soul Cairn, _a bloody good place all things considered, Serana related that only by becoming vampiric or allowing him intentionally soul trapped could he proceed, Reynald took the latter option without question.

There was no way he would lend credence to Ulfric's scandalous claims; if not mentioning the horrible implications of actually becoming 'undead', the thought made his skin crawl.

The vampire beside him on entering the place looked as hopeful on seeing a loved one as he had ever had in the days leading up to his near fateful execution, she'd been equally melancholic as they traversed her mother's ruined gardens.

It was a strange thing for him to realise just how _human _she really appeared, where before he thought of her as an abnormally moral vampire, it really made him wonder how people went from caring men and women to the ravenous blood suckers as he'd seen in their population.

Perhaps vampirism was a true showing of 'bad things happen to bad people', the sort like Harkon and his lieutenants who wished for power at the expense of others, that wasn't Serana however – leaving him with a question or two on why she'd done it.

The aforementioned unholy hell of where trapped souls resided was not the place for it; instead it had been in his best interests to use each and every available method of his to fend off the seemingly limitless numbers of skeletal 'bone men' that guarded the unsettling prema-cast violet realm.

Near a hundred if not more ground shattering thu'um utterances later and they were free of the soul cairn, with innumerable bone walkers; wraiths and their keepers shattered and broke behind them, a dragon drawn in pact to the ideal masters swearing to fight by Reynald's side to number his flight able allies now at two.

They had gained the elder scroll; coupled it with that which Reynald had once stolen away from the tower of _Mzark, _had escaped back to castle Volkinaronly to escape that potential trap by way of a balcony and levitation.

A good few days work even if the world was closing in around them; and all that had remained was to read the scrolls in the ancestor glade, a place sacred to the moths and the priests that claimed mastery, if not the most knowing on the great scrolls, then perhaps they could finally put Harkon to heel and settle Skyrim.

It hadn't been however; and Reynald had gone from listening to Serana lamenting about the downfall of her family to his melancholic thoughts as they waded through Falkreath hold.

He like anyone else had felt the sting of pain related to one's own family; it had been the death of his brother and father that had spurred him into the frenzied nature of determining Skyrim's future after all, yet even as those feelings more often than not lost their place in his mind against the pain he could feel for the nordic people he'd chosen to protect.

He'd been deluded into thinking he could save the land from destruction when really all he had done was deliver it to further hardship, and every burnt out inn or deserted homestead reminded him that he had failed to bring about a lasting peace with his actions.

The principles of aligning against the empire to show derision at their treaty; to prove Skyrim would was no longer stamped to a sinking ship, that idea had perhaps cost the ravaged hunters shack he'd found a dutiful owner, or that dutiful owner his wife and children.

They had not travelled exclusively by foot however; for Mithllon was as always impressive in his way of getting about, rather they had only had to ascend the summit past Northwatch before they came across a small torn asunder fort where the arch-mage had set up one of many transportation stations, in the style of the telvanni of old.

They'd managed to spring from the north of Skyrim to a gorge just before the passing of Falkreath to the outer realm of Markarth in the time it took to mount a horse, near three days to settle the entirety of their trip was nothing short of miraculous.

Leaving the gorge; an old place of some fortification in the way of traps and old spell binded gems they had made their way through the forests of northern Falkreath, bringing Reynald ever the closer to Helgen and Riverwood, where his journey had truly began.

Those days of simple survival; fighting a throng of bandits here and there were so long past that he almost ached for them to return, with none of the betrayal and fierceness of war scaring what appeared to be the entirety of Skyrim against him.

Moving through occupied territory had been nigh on impossible if not for Serana's aptitude in illusion and conjuration, sneaking up on positions to cast a fierce ice atronach upon the opposing flank or levelling any number of sentries as they could slip by.

She was perhaps as talented a battlemage to Aranea Lenith of Sybille Stendarr as he had found outside of the college, unlike those two women she was not a mage with the ear of a daedra or a power waxing vampire – in fact she was simply just a girl.

It was a strange thing that a vampire who could live within such a horrible place could want things more _human _than what actual humans wanted, a settled family away from murder and plots, against the ambition of men like Ulfric - or the vengeful sort of Isran- the greedy steward Publitus, she was a relative rarity among the masses.

Even Reynald wasn't innocent of having lofty ideals; and he was going to tell her as much in a way to remove her from the stupor that had gained hold of her since her mother had so badly scolded her in the soul cairn, in a way Reynald couldn't even remember up until the days of his removal to the legion, but he'd relented shortly after that, he hardly had the power to simply make her feel better by plying her with a thin compliment.

They'd reached the ancestor moth in the height of the darkness, across a rising mountain expanse that must have provided the legion with their entry into Skyrim, a fine feat given the stretch was nothing more than a vast swathe of jagged rock and deep pitfalls.

Serana like Reynald hadn't been impressed to find a dead cavern on arrival to the glade, yet delving deeper found it to be a ruse to off put unwanted visitors; for when they turned into the main glade they were treated to a sanctuary of supreme peace, filled with jet of light that cast itself into the cavern night or day seemingly.

There too were the vaunted moths of which Dexion and his order derived their names; willing to couple around Reynald as he drew the bark from the sacred oaks, his very skin began to heat with an unnatural glow as they cast about him, Reynald couldn't deny the nature of this place – it was blessed.

Then having stood amongst the light streaming in Reynald read the scrolls as he had done on the mount of the throat of the world; against Alduin and now Harkon, his eyes burned and rolled as he folded them many times, until finally the scrolls conjoined and a stream of pulsing white light cut across them.

He recognized it after a moment, the rivers of Skyrim including the karth, blazing along what morphed into a map of Skyrim, blurred and unintelligible for the most, yet there came the blazing sigil of Markarth and Solitude alike, a white sphere originating near the end of a throng of the river.

"I know where it is, it's near a sacked orc fortress is the north west" he answered Serana's query, not quite sure how he felt about that, caves could go from being bear dens to the resting places of dragon priests, whole hordes of daedra or necromancers alike, he'd made a living raiding the places in days past but that didn't mean he much relished the prospect of such a deadly fight in such a confined space.

Leaving the ancestor glade with the draw blade and bark near the light stream they'd came out into the burgeoning daylight of a new day, somewhat flustered Reynald decided to sit himself upon a reasonably sated ledge that overlooked Falkreath hold below, Serana had warned him off falling off before he reminded her that she'd seen him levitate not a day previously.

Sheepishly she sat down; seeing all the glory and dread of the green soaked hold, held away from near everything by what off high rising mountain expanses and dense forestation. Now all of that natural defence was soaked up by that of men, where he saw the road to Helgen he saw stormcloaks erecting pitched fortifications to shut the imperials from each other, further in the west he could catch the flutter of the imperial standard in a half ruined tower, while Falkreath itself sat surrounded by hundred of legionnaires with all the panoply of war.

"How many men do you think have died in this battle?" Serana asked after a moment of the winds shifting across the precipice, giving Reynald just enough cause to tighten his grip, "Perhaps a few hundred men" a safe enough guess, it didn't look like there were many more bodies wrapped in their white linens within the eastern catch of Falkreath's immediate grounds, two hundred loyal imperial soldiers perhaps.

"You do know with the bow, your father must die" he said to her a moment later, remembering within the castle how she'd spoke about the man he'd seen as a monster before the prophecy, a _father_ rather than a lord or a vampire. He was halfway towards saying that she could remove herself from the fight before she cut him off; resolute "I've known that from the start, I've known that it wouldn't just come down to me running away or someone else dealing with him. He needs either me or my mother - and he won't get her and he won't have me."

The idea of killing your own family was so obnoxious to Reynald he dismissed it entirely, but he could hear in her voice how much she meant it, that spoke of her steel more than any other act he'd seen so far could, all she truly cared about was getting back to the way things were before this prophecy he knew, yet she was willing to destroy her father for the sake of…what exactly?

That had been something he'd not figured out in all of this; why she'd actually helped them against her father, she hadn't known about her mother or herself being so critical to her father's plans, was it simply to save her own back from what she thought was his anger? It didn't fit, "Why did you help me in this?" he asked while catching her gaze squarely, all of that golden fire against her pale skin.

"Because I knew that my father would destroy so many people; innocent people, where before he would have fed, would have taken his enemies and people who'd displeased him…now he would wipe out entire towns and lands, for what - to have mountains of bone and blood to rein over?" She had enough anger in her voice to match her bawled hands, at her father or the prophecy he didn't know "My father has been stolen by this prophecy; it's taken everything I ever cared about. I'm going to make sure it's never uttered by another vampire as long as the sun still burns." He nodded dumbly at that, feeling the sheepish one now.

They got up and began to make their way down the crest of the mountain; Reynald mulling over the fact that Serana was in many ways braver than him, for while she could kill her own father he could never dream of being able to do the same. Neither could he take the action that he felt he was inevitably being pulled towards, a confrontation with Ulfric, in order to stop this war and make peace before anymore imperials or nords died in this foolish conflict.

The thought of walking into Ulfric's tent; or in his mind at least the palace of kings and demanding he bring the by now encircled imperials to the table, was one that disturbed him in how liberating he thought it would feel, and he knew with near certainty that he would have to throw down that same challenge that Ulfric had once put to Torygg.

Being inside his thoughts as he was; Reynald saw a moment too slow moment at the edge of his vision, something like a great cat leaping at him from a ledge above the narrow pathway they walked through, his blade was free from his shoulder before he realised he should have called a spell to hand.

The collapsing heap of sodden fur and a bloodcurdling howl told him that it was a troll rather than a great cat or bear, crushing him down as it rose up to smash it's mace like fists into his face and chest, "_**Fus Do Yor!" **_he thundered however; sending the troll up off him with a burst of punishing flame to help it along, Serana had already turned to cast ice and fire upon it as Reynald pushed himself up, a moment later Serana had bitterly subdued the creature as he picked up his sword, "I feel like I've bit hit with an anvil" he groaned, his shoulders had taken the brunt of the impact thankfully – or _unthankfully_.

"Here – Let me help you" Serana came up behind and put her hands across his shoulders, the pain began to lessen and his shoulders loosened, _that's one more for the sadistic vampire _he thought as he broke out of his reverie.

From there they got on the road as travellers taking the wilderness paths, as neither Reynald nor Serana wore anything more than robes and tough leathers, pinned together over quilted linen with metal fastenings, a look that would draw to them no more than the accusation of veteran walkers.

Still Reynald felt shaken by the appearance of the troll; however isolated it was, dangers in the woods came more to his mind as they went about shifting past the watch towers erected in Ulfric's command along the roadway from Helgen to Falkreath, which meant scraping across roads from bushel to road inlay, skulking along forest ways as the sounds of men and horses could be heard approaching, in all despicable and anger inducing for someone who'd nigh on saved every blade of grass or man he now cowed away from.

Still he relented knowing that they would have to focus on finding the place the bow lay, then he could think about what to do about Ulfric; Skyrim and saving it yet again from a seemingly slow fade into a lawless warzone, settling in a small grove that was far and away from the main roadways Reynald pulled off his boots and let his feet dip into the water, Serana apparently got more of a burning sensation when it came to magnifying her feet in the sun.

She settled down rather in some shade afforded by a thick oak hanging across the small pond, a cool place in her mind that was placid against the veiled threat of their travelling had been under, settling back against the bank Reynald allowed himself to momentarily drift away from thoughts of more civil war or just the regular sort, not even vampires or blood prophecies.

His thoughts as always could never be overridden by ideas of resting, and he would never think of going on a hunt or sitting down to a newly found ode before the troubles in front of him, rather than Ulfric or even Harkon he found himself thinking about Serana.

A vampire; even the idea of being 'undead' was something that stuck in his thoughts as vile, even Sybille Stentor as an advisor of his was as bloodthirsty and predatory in a way so expected of their kind, that he barely took mind of her more extreme suggestions.

Serana was just Serana however; a girl or even woman who while undead, ancient and of course deadly in her own right, was simply as sane and mild mannered as any other person he'd met in his life.

There were no insane ravings; nor brutal feeding on unsuspecting travellers as they skirted across the country this way and that, perhaps being a daughter of cold harbour meant that there blood ran stronger than the usual sort he'd come to expect from Skyrim's darkest corners. Regardless of why she was not like that of her father; or even her mother, who he say as just as much of a creature as Harkon save for his lust for power, Serana was what she was, a girl who missed the family lost to her.

It reminded him of the calamity he faced against his once protectors the blades, who wished him to slay the dragons indiscriminately on the basis of past crimes – and regardless of what help they had afforded him, narrow minds bred narrow thoughts.

Either by reading his mind; or more likely catching his sight movement as he shifted to take some preserved beef from his pack Reynald found himself being watched by Serana, she didn't turn away having been seen, mostly because she seemed to be aware of his gaze against hers.

A moment later and she was snapping from her stupor; questioning his own gaze "What is it?" she asked oblivious, Reynald shook his head "You were staring at me, I was beginning to wonder if you were hungry" Serana as he was accustomed to rolled her eyes at his poor attempt at humour, her mouth quirking into what could have been an attempt to stifle a laugh, "I'd rather not try and chew through your hide, you're a bit too leathery for my tastes" Reynald couldn't suppress his own laugh at that, she wasn't the worst travelling companion.

"Actually I was thinking; about all of this, my father and his plans, this king and his wars…even this place is just _wrong_" He knew what she meant, as even all the patrols and soldiers about didn't amount to it being inhabited, there only seemed to be burnt out husks and ruined forts where once hunters and fishers - or proud families had called their homes.

He knew what she meant; knew it was right, but didn't know why she'd mentioned it until she looked to have resolved the question in her mind, "What will you do when we deal with my father? Will you go back to this war, kill more men for this empire – or against it – for your own power or this kings?" The question would have sounded abrasive from anyone else's tongue, penetrating or even an accusation. From her it only seemed like a question to decipher what he was really concerned with, was he a war monger or defender of a realm he seemed so invested in.

The question was difficult to answer; and maybe Reynald had been dismissive within himself of the effect Ulfric had upon him, the man was as foolhardy and proud as any nord he'd ever met, subversive and jealous like the most pompous of bretony kings, and as heated towards the elves as Pernial Whitesnake of old.

All that made him a fool to Reynald; and he couldn't think that today couldn't have been a better day if he had chosen to support Elisif, or Balgruuf, or even pursued his own claim, yet at all that he could not see himself choosing to strike down Ulfric as he had his predecessor, he did not have the same wolfish passion within him.

"I will persecute the betterment of change within the realm of men; that is to say Skyrim and Highrock, Hammerfell and Cyrodiil, but I don't think I have the heart anymore to tackle all of this by way of conquest." He was truthful in that, knowing that Dawnstar and Windhelm had been caused by Ulfric's lust to savage the legions and his own complicity in that, "I do not think I'll have much ability to wage a war, not in Skyrim while Ulfric holds me as a wanted man. Instead I'll return to Highrock, press whatever alliance my lieutenants have managed to bring about, with luck I'll have the friendship of Hammerfell and Shornhelm, that in itself will command me enough influence to bring Daggerfall and the imperial force in Highrock to the table."

She surely didn't know what Daggerfall or Shornhelm was, but she did know what diplomacy sounded like, "So you'll not be fighting anymore?" she asked without really knowing what she was asking, something too naïve to think "I wouldn't have a choice even if hung up my sword tomorrow; nor would I if I hung it up ten years from now. For all the warriors and nobles you've seen parading around trying at battle; this is but a prelude to the slaughter the Thalmor and their nigh unstoppable dominion will force upon us, a war that will seek to finally break the world of men."

"So your idea of resisting these elves is to kill each other?" She asked wryly; always willing to take anything she saw as foolish apart, though Reynald hardly minded most of the time "It's madness I know; yet not all men believe that victory against the dominion will be by standing side by side, I won't say that I have relented from attacking people who should have been my allies instead of enemies." Memories of taking the field against Wayrest were the most painful, even on reflection of how proud and pompous they'd been in receiving him, "I cannot say that I haven't made mistakes or that my goals have always been reflected in my actions, yet now I can see that no war will be won by drawing the blood of innocent men – or elves – no matter the cost. When this is all dealt with I'll deal with this fight." Serana didn't look impressed or particularly enthusiastic at his chances.

He had more leverage that she knew however, preferring to eat some meat and take in a few gasps of the pond before drying his feet and moving on, into the midday they went over the low forested region that connected Falkreath on through to Markarth beyond lake Ilinalta, aiming to reach Sundered Gorge before the day ended.

There they would find Milisi; her chosen warriors that would accompany them when he had found sufficient evidence of the bow, along with weapons and armour suiting whatever trial was to come. Reynald in his head could still not quite feel right in working with the dunmeri who had only so lately gave such a harmful lesson to the poor host sent at Ulfric's command to retake Windhelm, yet in the same moment he knew that she was all he had for way of force.

Having no calamity upon the road and finding that Serana could always keep up with what was a quick pace Reynald reached the gorge by the turn of the sun, coming across the high risen access that had been decorated by previous tenants with skulls and hung corpses, something he refused to return to the ground.

They did after all make sure bandits and raiders steered well clear for fear of something more horrible than what there axes and swords could promise, vampires in the winds had only meant such men had began to hold up inside their forts and camps at greater length.

Going inside and placing away their supplies; which had amounted to little more than some food and whatever blood Serana had managed to source from the college, they moved through the midst of the holdout.

Reynald was as surprised though not as wary when redguards were found there going about the musk filled hallways and cave lengths, "Do not be afraid my friends I am not here to harm you" he told them with his most disarming smile as they caught sight of him and brandished their weapons, one who was in the traditional long cloak of linen and doubled fur asked him naked steel in hand.

"How do we know what you're here for then eh?" Reynald didn't relent in the slightest "If I was here to harm you then you'd in all be harmed. I suspect your all here on the ministrations of Milisi, if not then perhaps you should make use of that keen sword in hand" Reynald produced his own blade at that slowly from his shoulder sheath; the teeth at its middle bared and intimidating against the honed blade itself "though I'd wager I could make much better use of mine." Not looking cowed; not one bit, the redguard caught sight of the blade and was satisfied the man before him was meant to be here, "You're the man we were told was coming; the man who led the dragon against us at Windhelm. You look a far sight lesser than what you did with the dragon hide on your back or one of them upon your rear, but we where commanded to allow you passage." Reynald sheathed his weapon and followed them, deeper into the cavern where he knew the living quarters only pieces of interest lay.

There he found what he expected and a good deal more, Milisi was there in her starlight armour along with her black garbed dunmeri going about her, most of them if not working at their weapons or armours where carrying about different sacks of what he could guess was provisions.

There however he saw amongst them more of the redguards who he'd met on the entry; with one in particular being standalone among them, a behemoth who could barely stand to walk under the lowly hanging cave heights or push through the narrow doorways.

His armour was a foreboding shade of red composed of fine quilt overlaid by ruddy-bronze lamellar plates in the hundreds; his face was as dark as the dunmer's yet fiercer for his burning eyes and creased brow, "So you are Lathar Mathis" Reynald said to him as their eyes met, across a distance not so great as to warrant no violence.

The hulk of a man did not look to press any animosity as his men had, instead he offered his hand forward which Reynald accepted without hesitation, "So you are the dragon warrior who has shook the whole of Skyrim – and to think you're a breton!" the man laughed loudly, as if he had no care for Reynald's ire, "Aye though never as well off to have my arse pampered like the rest of that lot" He didn't really mind, not against someone who looked like he'd have matched the world eater through sheer strength alone.

Milisi got in between them, leaving Serana to the side "I've brought Lathar here because we have been only recently in arms together, you haven't took too much against working with me if it's for the betterment of Skyrim" Reynald hadn't seen the man as he attacked Ralof's overwhelmed force, but anyone who could make the beast of Morthal throw himself of Windhelm bridge was a serious consideration.

"Do you wish to aid me in ridding Skyrim of these vampires? If so can I ask what you are looking in compensation, I've just found out our port of call and I'm quite eager to make way there." Lathar again laughed at his forthrightness and explained without any hint of modesty "I am of the mind to return to Hammerfell for my venture here – against that traitor Ulfric has not afforded me much success. To get there however I would need to pass Wayrest and the innards of High Rock; which you now control." Anyone could have understood that in a moment, though Reynald briefly considered the idea of it being a trick on the part of his imperial loyalties, "So you lend your men to me and in return I allow you passage towards Hammerfell?"

"Quite right" the man quickly agreed, so quickly Reynald couldn't help but be suspicious of it, 'Milisi is the sort of ally one needs for life' where Mithllon's words however, "Agreed and quickly; that's how all matters of diplomacy should be settled" Reynald meant those words as little much as he trusted the redguard, who looked to have the gleam in his eyes as you would put more to a lion "I wonder if you indulge me in how many men you have, where they can be found and wither they would be worth bearing against vampires?"

Lathar snorted at Reynald's last enquiry; as he knew he would "My men number over a century; and where they can be found is within the hold of Whiterun, each one of them is a gifted warrior as beyond all of those in Skyrim; the rubble of Orctown or any other place that claims to have the most favoured solders." Reynald ignored the puffing talk and instead on where they where situated, Whiterun meant that in order for them to meet at the lash of the river karth he would most likely need to wait days, time he neither wished to waste or had.

"Your men are too many in number to go unnoticed; and we haven't the time to wait about for events to unfold." Milisi agreed and Lathar seemed not to mind, perhaps he did not care where and when he had to kill "Instead I would have you and whatever men you have here come with me, save a few messengers to take to your men. These men are to tell them to march far north and into the western approach of Haafingar – avoiding Solitude as they go; and sweep across northeast to the sea before cutting west, there they will find after some a watch or two an abandoned fort that remains in good remains" A good a plan as he could think up of how to storm an impregnable looking castle, hope that the pompous fools inside thought they could make sport of their new neighbours.

"Before your man departs make sure he is aware that these vampires will most likely attempt to displace them" Reynald warned, half hoping they did "Have them conceal their numbers as best they can, we'll need to draw them out." Lathar accepted that as any soldier under Reynald's command ever had, "Let's see them try" he only commented before turning off to commit the orders.

Reynald felt the palpable energy in the room as the man left barking orders to those who led him in, Milisi likewise began to rile her mer up calling for arms and armour to be brought forward, there would be no rest before they marched for the bow.

"Dragonborn I have brought half of what strength I have here, the rest as you asked of Lathar will march for Haafingar. Drelas and Hllaren are marshalling their compliments near Morthal, I'll have a mer of mine deliver them the news" Milisi was no longer coy or even slightly playful now; her eyes looked roaring and her jaw set in a harsh line, "The _razor _was of good use, I lost more than what I wished for the privilege of Dagon's cooperation however, and now it's time I settle my part of this bargain."

He wanted to know just exactly what she had done with that horrible weapon; yet the look of her told him that perhaps it was not something she wished to discuss, Serana behind began to make through the room and Reynald followed, only for Milisi to grab his arm, "I must let you know that Mithllon has sent word of your _companions_, those that specifically call themselves by that title. They await you at the fallen tower."

The prospect of seeing who he expected would be Aela again both gladdened and terrified him, he'd missed her gruff tone and dismissive manner that protected the brave soul beneath, though he could probably do without the anger she'd have pour from every sense for allowing her to think he was dead.

It couldn't be helped however; as the Redguards and Dunmer alike soon had their armour fastened and weapons slung, each one of them seemed to have their own preference and style as Reynald caught sight of things as simple as a dunmer with a keen long blade to a redguard wielding a three ponged spear, another dunmer held nothing but a short lance while a fearsome looking redguard with almost nothing but red paint upon him held in either hand an axe of triple spikes.

Most of the dunmer held potions across their persons while more than a few of the redguard settled for long bows upon their backs.

They numbered at some ten apiece besides their leaders who had already confided orders to the quicker men and mer designated for message carrying, Lathar he seen had both a three span great bow upon his back with ebony arrows slung across his shoulder, in his hand was the mighty crescent blade Reynald had heard about.

This was a party that was sure to match whatever met them in the search for the bow, though he was glad like himself and Serana they all choose to drape common looking rough spun cloaks across themselves.

It wouldn't do any good to be marching around Skyrim like a party of questing heroes in stark armours and with gleaming weapons like they were from some fairy tale, they all wrapped their weapons in cloth save for their bows and short blades.

Regardless of that they moved on; using the archaic transport platform Mithllon had erected in one of four locations across Skyrim, in reality nothing more than a firm stone imbued with the wizards own power and maintained by four shorn stones of some colourless quality that Reynald knew little off.

True to her word there was sitting in the hollowed out remains of the broken keep Aela and two others he supposed where shield brothers; a ragged looking nord fellow of maybe ten and four who's blade looked to hold more life, and another hardy looking brave who was by his pallid skin and curved chin an imperial, tall and clean-cut.

That despite both men wearing furs more applicable to hunters or trappers, deer skin bottoms laced over cow skin shoes, with bear skin underlain with sheep fur across their shoulders and chest down to their bare wrists.

"Not exactly an honour guard" He said as her attention caught to him, trying to sound witty but failing in the face of her morbidly humourless face, Serana and Milisi who came through firstly behind gave them room as Aela stalked towards him.

For a moment it looked as if she was going to strike him which was if anything an irrational fear; given she wasn't partial to bouts of physical violence with her fists at least, "You're the luckiest son of Shor that I have ever met, and you had me running halfway across the land just to find you" She said to him without any ferocity in her tone, instead rather a warmness that he couldn't help but smile at.

"I think all that worry about me has softened you up" he said to her as the dunmer and redguard began to fill out into the now falling night sky, the huntress half heartily growled at the accusation "Almost as soft as your head – allowing yourself to be bested by one of those filthy creatures" Reynald thankfully didn't see Serana about, who looked to have moved out with the rest of them, "what news then?" he asked as Aela seemed to wish him to hold behind.

She looked the most nervous he'd seen since never in just a flash; because she never got nervous or apprehensive, still as she spoke she was deflated, perhaps even ashamed "I came here as soon as I could, not only to see what trouble you've gotten yourself into but to tell you I've had to do something for the sake of the companions."

"You didn't kill Torvar did you?" Reynald asked in good humour, he was sure that definitely had an appeal to a diehard like Aela, yet she was heavy throated as she told him "The high king after the attempted assassination ordered the men sent to arrest you to investigate the companions, to see if you had 'infected any of the famed nordic order'. They were pushing towards closing off the Jorrvaskr and that fool Vignar was willing to abide by it! I had to do something-"

"Ah I see – I've been removed as harbinger until my innocence is cleared" he guessed to which she nodded gravely, but Reynald tried to brighten her up and placed his hand upon her sinuous shoulder "It's fine Aela, you can keep the honour such as it is. I haven't stepped foot inside the hall for near half a year; and I'm planning to travel further abroad even further now, what is the point of having a leader who isn't there? Besides you lot give me ulcers, you can bring the companions back to what they were." Relieved Aela accepted the charge such as it was, before they took to their new companions.

"Hail Dragonborn, Arkay wishes me to greet you" the large imperial said as Reynald turned to them, confusing him as their hands intertwined "Don't worry friend; I won't be embarrassed meeting the hero of Skyrim – if you don't get embarrassed meeting Florentius" that didn't help matters much, but before Reynald could question him he introduced the other man, "This is Skald of the greywastes – fine fellow – bit of a drinker" The same greeting was engaged by the smaller of the pair, though Reynald found himself surprised at the strength of the shrunken mans grip.

"To meet Ysmir's incarnation in a place like this…it speaks of Lorkan's best humour" Skald excitably told him, face crooked with a cracked smile and lit with lively sea green eyes, Reynald looked to have misjudged him on first appearance, "Here I am looking to kill some of this unruly creatures when suddenly I'm asked to find Alduin's bane, a bloody honour indeed." Reynald couldn't help but be stroked.

"What has you fellows here?" he asked, sure they were prospective companions, but apparently not "Unfortunately Arkay isn't the only one giving out the orders; Isran has a hand as well. We were sent to find you; and thanks to your friend Aela here we have." News from the Dawnguard was unexpected and certainly unwanted, as didn't Isran didn't seem the sort of man to search others out lightly.

"Trouble with the vampires?" he guessed; causing the man's face to darken slightly, while Skald gave a coarse laugh "That's one way to put it, another would be that halfway to Atmora and neither of us has an oar" humorous as he was Skald was not bringing welcoming news, and Reynald knew there would be more fallout as the conflict intensified, "We – as in the Dawnguard aren't winning this conflict, not with bluster and all good intentions as we've been going by so far. We've lost near on half our recruits already, those bloodsuckers are all across Skyrim in numbers we can't control, they've already turned at least half a dozen bandit hideouts into thralls in the eastern lowlands alone, and we believe they've infiltrated Riften's court. If they get their teeth into the jarl then they could start infecting the entirety of the holds guards – then the stormcloaks –perhaps we'll have an outbreak that we cannot control by the years out."

It never snowed in Skyrim; it was always blizzards, and when the storms fell it was always in droves that blocked out anything twenty sten in front of you, "Right. _Brilliant. _Well we have an idea of where Auriel's bow is located, it's the Zucturus in all this if you will. If we get our hands on the bow then we'll have the momentum up on any prophecy fulfilment, but that's not mentioning the assault on the clan home itself, I plan to end the vampire's momentum in one swift battle."

Skald was eager, "Isran said you were not the sort to fool around; and that's high praise from a man who sleeps with both eyes open, I suppose a lot of vampire hunters would do well to join this attack?" His guess was correct, and Reynald gave them exactly what he needed plainly, "All your available warriors; new recruits and haggard's alike. I have another in a good number marching for the north-western coast, if you where to travel through Haafingar across its southwest to northeast road – then cut across the face of the sea of ghosts-

"And what of transportation; I don't swim of well" Florentius asked, yet Reynald had given it thought, "There are boats in Solitude and Dawnstar alike, both cities I have a good affinity with. I'll send a messenger to arrange for boats to be spared, I doubt they'll pass the chance against the destruction of the vampires." That satisfied both and just like that they were off, eager to carry word to Isran and get the carriages rolling.

Aela was the very same as she related she'd not shed much poison blood as she called it, "I've spent half the conflict chasing after shadows of you, and don't even get me started on how ridiculous it looked when I rolled up to Dawnstar with a funeral cart – embarrassing to say the least" Remembering those days of fire and steel; bringing low so many of the undead and their slaves, it made him wish that his fortune could continue, without deals with the sort who had taken it upon themselves to save him from Vingalmo's poisons, he'd not tell _that _story for many a twin moon yet.

Regardless of what came; Reynald moved forward into the cold as it looked night, his breath causing small plumes of fog whenever he spoke, rain began to fall in an annoying consistency that looked not to be abating anytime soon, all of them where covered in cloaks if not mounted for faster travel – a game of halves.

Before they departed Reynald took Aela to the side; choosing his words carefully "I know your eager to fight in this struggle; and maybe even a little worried about me if I could be so bold – but I need you to restrain yourself from this one fight" He threw his hands as she went to protest, "I know how much you want this; or more importantly how much you despise those creatures. However I need you to marshal whatever companions you can; and brave men wherever you can find them, I've directed that in five days we'll march on Harkon''s keep, enough time for you to do the rounds of Whiterun and Morthal before we assemble" She looked to protest even then, though Reynald gave her enough of his most convincing doe eyes to throw resistance against her own.

"You're as irritable as a troll sometimes" She told him; before she agreed to act as courier for him, slipping a letter he quickly inked on some supplied paper brought with Milisi. Drawing off into the woods as she did before she managed to get exceedingly fast across the planes; Reynald realised that with the dawnguard, all those at the council and perhaps Auriel's bow in their hands Harkon would be finished.

That thought preserved him as he fell in with the now settled group of warriors hiding under the fallen tower of the ruined battlements, marching out they went into the grey night, nothing but fog and the outline of hillsides and mountains every which was for endless leagues it seemed.

The west of Haafinger where they prodded through was notoriously barren however; filled with nothing now save one or two eager mining outposts and a razed orc stronghold, where Reynald had managed to slay a good host of Thalmor half a year ago.

As they went he realised how much of men's blood he had spelt as opposed to elves, it counted in the hundreds if he was to tally all those that occurred under his command, a sour thought as they marched sleeplessly through what remained of the night.

Going until the watch before morning broke when they took cover in an old cavern that was cleared back to front before it was deemed safe, redguards at the front while the elves took the entryway with their wards and spells, Reynald slept in the middle in the curve of the cavern at his back yet he still felt himself drifting off with only a flimsy covering to offer him comfort, Serana brought hers close to him and lay down as the rest took to their fitful rest.

"I think you're getting too keen by far in sleeping near me, _vampire_" he said to her jokingly, at least beginning to resolve on the fact that it perhaps was her that took him around to the idea of men killing men to kill elves was _stupid_, "If I liked sleeping beside you half as much as you think I do, it would be a fourth as much as I actually do" she countered sleepily, as if fatigue affected vampires, did it? He didn't know.

Something to find out if he ever decided to befriend rather than kill them as a rule, "You're a lot testier when you're tired; though as it seems by an imperative your mouthy all the time. Get some sleep and you can pick up in a watch's time" She smiled at that and drifted off; and Reynald didn't or rather couldn't stop himself smiling also. It felt like comforting warmth of companionable humour, rather than that of balking laughter than he found was his only outlet given all his reverses and slights.

As wild as it was this vampire; undead and horribly wrought as she had to be the only normal consideration in his life, everything else was now mercenary redguards, mysterious dunmeri and a nord king looking to bury him beneath his own ambition.

Sleep came easy to him and he dozed off for the time allotted, waking as one of the dark eyed dunmeri prodded him with her three pronged – double ended spear, getting up to meet the already sent to march companions of Milisi and Lathar alike Reynald took some offered bread and melted cheese before setting off.

In the midpoint of the year Skyrim in its most western border was not so cold as to be unbearable; not even anything beyond cool, all of the hot feet of the redguard and the pliable dunmer looked to be enduring the weather with ease.

Reynald himself had no problem with marching now given all the years he'd spent marching across Tamriel with some thirty or forty den packs upon him, armour and spear not even remembered, marching across low-lying ground that was only broken by the occasional stream or muddy ground, they in their entirety made it to the end of the karth's broken end as the sun reached its apex.

There was nothing there save the blustery wind; a stretch of mountain that was unbroken and unblemished, against a surrounding land of swamp and stream, placid and agreeable.

A cave mouth like so many in Skyrim delved into the ground beyond a defilade into the mountain scape; pitch black and ominous to those unfamiliar with the life of a soldier, Reynald didn't think anyone here strayed too far from that description.

Expecting a cavern in darkness and full of divines know what; Reynald and those who followed where surprised to find the damp caverns filled with torch holdings, easily lit which allowed them the curious knowledge that someone; or something had been here relatively recent.

That knowledge edged them on with more haste that before; past a bridge that had long since gave way of its holdings, then seeing as there only option was to guide themselves through an under cavern stream the party took their departures in groups of five.

Reynald within the second going arrived to find several grotesque spiders slain by the party Lathar had brought ahead, ahead of them lay wider caverns that they discovered with dashes of illumination being spread out amongst Milisi's spellcasters, finding their way easier they managed to travel into something quite beyond belief – even for a prophesied warrior like Reynald.

There in the backends of the cavern was a well lit area of residence; a bed of carved belsium wood lined with fur and skin blankets, cooking pots and a game rack, everything needed for residence including a pool just at their feet to bathe within.

At the centre of the loose mess was a lone mer; with snow streaked hair and a sharp visage, starlight eyes weary and his fair skin pasty and worn as the stones of Winterhold, Reynald thought there was something strange in the elf the minute he locked eyes upon him, his armour was shorn silver and moonstone in a strange plate construct that he'd never seen before.

He was too bright skinned to be a bosmeri or altmer; dunmeri or any sort of halfbreed, he was too short to be from alinor yet as said no way as short as a bosmeri, dunmeri was of course out of the question, "So what exactly are you?" he asked to that end, sword nagging across his shoulders, was he too trusting of the elf who looked serene before him? No, he had too many swords around him to worry.

Singsong like and polished the elf replied with a wary eye to their numbers "I am knight-paladin Gelebor of Auriel's chantry. Welcome to the great chantry of Auri-El." As easy as that they met the last snow elf, a throwback to the very days of the first era where the nords carved out their first true kingdom.

A thousand questions went through Reynald's mind; varying to things as simple as logistics to as far reaching as the continuing existence of a race long thought extinct, Milisi looked no less intrigued, and while the redguards held back nearly all of the dunmeri looked at this rarity.

Discipline and Lathar voicing his displeasure pushed them on from any talk of deep understanding, they got to the business of the bow and of course; a snow elf long removed from the problems of the current world had those of his own.

A chantry infested with the filth of the falmer, which remained in their last remaining refuge in such numbers to have fell what remained of their race, such an irony that Reynald couldn't help but feel some grim humour at, _destroyed by their demented brethren -_ it was a horrific thought.

Near all of his kind destroyed save for Gelebor and his brother; the _arch-curator_, in a mockery of the people they once were, stood amongst relics of eras past while they could have been replenishing their ranks, establishing themselves in the _eras_ they had to do so.

Had these people being rendered flaccid in their attempts at war making, either through sheer fear or unease of afflicting such harm upon others? He found himself wondering that as the man detailed their practices upon an eager Serana and Milisi, he could never envisage himself in a place where he could sit back and reflect as his friends were slain and his last refuge ravaged.

Arngier would love this elf; the masters at the throat of the world had a similar penchant for non-aggression, despite his ascent that all was done for the saving of their sanctuary, too many words of sorrow for the 'betrayed' fell from this mers tongue.

It mattered little it seemed, as whatever they done they would need to find the bow, therefore it took them to a 'wayshrine' of Auriel, a small hatchlet that possessed the smooth moon sheen that served as a fine example of the slick and elegant creativity the mer people once held.

Owing so some magic Reynald nor any in their party could understand; a sort of transport given by pools of reflection cast in the wayshrines – meant that they found themselves into caverns that not of them could even begin to guess where they now stood.

'The only way is forward' was the general consensus, and on that they began to march forward with Milisi and Reynald bearing illumination to light their way.

That proved to be a fatal mistake almost; as not but twenty paces into the caves they found the tell-tale signs of falmer, hideous burrowing holes that spawned the creatures when they caught a scent of unfamiliar blood.

They were just that; and as Reynald prepared to draw loose his blade a foul creature burst from a nearby sac of vile porous flesh, loosing a creature that was like an oversized insectoid that had grown razor like pincers and a maw dripping with horrible venom.

Milisi cast a burst of lighting so quickly that the creature could only explode, yet that drew more horrible cries from further within the cavern alerted them to further danger, "You should have allowed me to use my blade" he told her as the cries gained height, on came a far too familiar sight – fleshy grey bodies with blind snarls rushing with their twisted swords and sickle like half spears.

Reynald called a surge of lighting to hand which he cast across the oncoming throng, but one amongst them dispelled it with an arch of protective energy, throwing up a shield of his own body and expecting the rest of sort themselves he leapt in and hacked at them, cutting through the vanguard's body and spear in a jarring slash that caught him firstly through his wrist onto his shoulder to lower back.

A spear jabbed for his face and he jerked under it; awkwardly pulling his blade free before retreating to allow Milisi ahead, she caused grievous damage to another two as she cast a horrible spell of destruction that turned their skin to puss and blood to oil, before she too leapt free of a lance of ice and hacking sword swing.

More of the insectoid's came forward but before they could attack Reynald felt himself pushed away; it was by Lathar who had his weapon free and raring, as he went he began to pierce those in front of him with thundering thrusts of his long blade, perhaps catching an insectoid and a falmer in one stroke, before catching two in another.

The man's power was amazing; enough that even the falmer struggled to gain anything more than a few further seconds in life, the crowded tunnel meant that only two or maybe three could advance at a time, and Lathar and his mighty weapon were more than the measure of that.

The falmers numbers were not infinite at this point; and after a brief few moments of worry the last of them was slain in a small ravine by the brutal redguard, only ten of the falmer and a small few of the creatures lay dead yet the point was brought home, the falmer had infested here – and they were always horrible thing given the right number.

Furthering on in the caves they found nothing similar to most caverns found in Skyrim, instead whatever scant plant life had evolved to be naturally guarded, all of it luminous colours and pulsating beauty that gave way to toxic gases or poisonous pours as someone got close.

An obvious defence against the falmer; creatures so vile and cruel that they made the thalmor look pale in comparison, skulking ahead in the tunnels with most of their weapons still tied in cloth and armour fastened they all realised just how bad things were turning out.

This was no pass by of the falmer; and the knight-paladin had not been too weak to cut down the number of the falmer as was necessary, they had came to a far wider cavern of the caves, as high as it was wide opened with under flowing streams and rising passageways into other passages and alcoves.

The whole place was filled with falmer; their chitlin huts and pens that housed their bound chaurus creatures, everything was slick and noisy from the constant currents of water running through and above, none of them could do any more than hope to catch a glimpse of a falmer moving in the thick misty fog that lay within.

There could have been a few dozen or a few hundred; given just a scant idea by the illumination of the steamy waters Milisi; Lathar and Reynald took themselves through their huddled ranks and debated, though there was of course only one which way to go.

It lasted mere seconds; none of them would admit defeat to the other and suggest retreating and gathering more men or weapons, Reynald wouldn't have the idea in the head of the redguard that he was anything less than was expected of him and it was futile to go running before they knew the extent of what they faced.

"We don't know there numbers; we don't know where we're heading, we won't be remembered as great tacticians for running into this battle" Reynald stated in an obvious fashion, but he truly didn't think these two understood the danger of what they were undertaking, "These falmer may be easy to despise given their foul look, but those we have just encountered are only their relative innocents. When we storm through this place we will encounter their true warriors, whose armour is thick and spells are potent." Lathar looked unabashed; Milisi strangely held no hesitation in cutting her own sort to pieces, Reynald never held back against the falmer – they were too savage to be anything but maulers.

Still it jarred him; as Lathar and Milisi had their warriors unclothe their weapons and loosen their armour for combat that so many of a once glorious people could be lain so low as they were, it was a wild favour he'd be doing everyone that he ran through.

He'd went to have said to them all to show no quarter; but amongst their ranks were so many frightening applications of steel that he felt the need no longer, he placed himself behind the ever agitated Lathar and a near equally imposing redguard in a bronze corselet of mail, holding a golden hilted scimitar across his knees that clashed against the silken blue pants and shirt he wore under his armour.

Milisi tapped to let him know they were ready behind, he caught the eyes of Serana in the dark which were upon him, he knew that she understood what was to come.

It happened as Lathar went forward almost as a looming shadow; striking off no walls yet massive in his dark robes and armour, a falmer came to close and he used a short blade held across his chest to slash its throat, another peaked up and the redguard ahead began to skulk ahead, the falmer only got a few more feet before it was impaled through the mouth.

The pair of them were now upon the upward mound that was at the very centre of the cave; Lathar's mighty halberd came free and he leapt at the frail housing of the falmer, some ten Reynald had caught sight of sleeping around a doused fire, as he rushed forward perhaps five remained as Lathar savaged against them, the rest had woken but were unable to save themselves – but cries had already began to sound all around them, as if they had awoken a great slumbering beast.

Spells of illumination shot towards the eight corners of the caverns while all of those invading rushed out; eager for more slaughter yet overawed by the number of 'prey' facing them, spells of destruction crossed the caves in a brilliant shower of illumination; weapons gleamed against the hue as they cut through the onrushing falmer with great abandon.

Now across the caverns with a daedric runed katana in hand Milisi called for them to follow her behind the rush of a nearby water fall, a throng of falmer had made the crude walkway slick with blood already, Reynald followed as did those behind him as they fought a retreat, the falmer had availed little when facing their elite number so far.

Onwards they went despite the intensifying of the falmer warmongering; Milisi led ahead and eviscerated any in her path as easy as it was for her to flick a wrist or snap a hand, Lathar and his redguards were bustling always at the forefront, while all Reynald could see was the multitude of shimmering metal as destruction and illuminations were cast.

None seemed to be able to do anything more than forestall them; and like a current similar to that which ran through the cavern lengths their force was irresistible, Reynald could have thanked whatever god that had created the river to allow them to cut through them with it as a sound buffer, leading them without a casualty until they reached an apex.

Similar to that place they first found wide enough to host the falmer beforehand, an area of rock overshadowed by an in cave waterfall that drowned out everything beyond its veil, Falmer lay in yet more tents and huts of ever increasing size, crude weapon racks and charus pens lined the outer enclosure.

This place could hold at least three score of their numbers Reynald guessed that could be seen, though none had been disturbed so far as to raise them to weapons, nothing needed said that hadn't been already and they moved out to continue their slaughter, Serana had fallen in beside him as they branched out – nothing was more than the sound of the falling stream.

A falmer came from one of the larger huts; with a skull mask gnarling around her grotesque face, an arrow whistled over Reynald's shoulder and struck her in the throat, Milisi unleashed a blistering explosion of fire that burst through the walls of the tent and ignited everything inside – falmer went out howling and they all set upon them – weapons in hand either side began a bloody battle that Reynald and Serana threw themselves into the midst off.

Fighting one way with his dragon sword and having Serana slashing with her own; the pair fought up the right flank of the falmer, Reynald saw that his centre was engulfed entirely by the defending falmer towards the left of the water logged bridgeway, that was enough for him to finally unleashed his thu'um, "_**Fus Do Rah**_" went the thunder from his mouth, capturing more than ten of the falmer and having enough to knock several more from the crossing.

More poured around them though from every which way; a maelstrom of grey flesh and dull weapons attempting to encircle them, one armoured beast pulled free the pens of their pets who rushed out like a torrent of thick ants – "Bust through or die!" Reynald shouted with his sword aloft.

Lathar's bronze companion went through first; charging with his sword raised into the unknown, only to be knocked back by a mighty blow that knocked his head into chunks of bone and blood, a falmer came through himself now braying but Lathar at a roar decapitated him head to chest with a mighty overhand swing of his halberd, charging himself with his weapon ready to thrust and all followed.

The crossing was slippery with blood and refuse from the falling stream; enough so that Reynald had to be steadied by Serana behind, they moved though all the quicker as heard the coming of so many falmer in behind them. It turned to a race to break free as one redguard was caught by a mess of falling rock – while another was impaled against a wall as he rushed ahead to scout the way, Lathar's cries to watch the way only intensified as the nose behind them built up to an almost deafening roar.

Then they came to a passageway blocked in with two levers; presumably allowing access to whatever lay beyond, Milisi pulled away the hand that groped for the foremost lever and pulled the second, the rumble of the passageway retracting allowing them free of their pursuers.

"We need to break the lever or they'll follow" Milisi told Reynald as those in front got through to what lay beyond, not a scream or shout there which only spelt good news, "How do we break it and then get through?" he replied however, allowing those dunmer who were behind to file through behind him, the falmer sounded not so far behind.

It stumped her for only a moment; before she grabbed the three pronged- double ended spear he'd been prodded with himself before; slick with blood on all six points, "I'll need to get you a new tri spear Hasplin" she told the surprised dunmer who without a word carried on, Reynald was surprised at the lack of back talk from the follower before he realised all f those who followed him were mostly loud mouthed nords, "You jam it and I'll rend the lever." Reynald himself took the order without question and fitted the weapon between the barrier, Milisi in a supreme showing cast a spell upon herself that allowed her to rip the lever down and out in a way to disable it, the barrier immediately strained to retract.

Reynald threw himself through the small gap afforded first; his frame not as lithe as Milisi as she merely slipped through, as she turned however she saw a falmer threatened to follow as callow as they were, yet a great arc of destruction from the pair of them sent the weapon shattering against the broken falmer's corpse.

A great cat remained where they burst through; spotted deep velvet and plush green, something so foreign even to a veteran explorer like Reynald, "We've found more of these cats!" a redguard shouted before a good few twangs of the bowstring could be heard.

It left them through the massing of ravaged elves and in a massive; epic subterranean area that reminded him none too fondly of blackreach and those places once held in the yoke of dwemer, huge growths of glowing gelatinous creatures wafted about against jagged rock ends and withering crossways, with a great pool of sea green water that looked memorizing against the dark water crowding the falmer at the core of the refuge.

"There must be dwemer ruins around here; perhaps at the other end of this place" Reynald said as he sheathed his weapon, throwing his wetted hair back as he followed around the side cliff dotting the caverns, "which would mean more falmer given the levers" Milisi mentioned a moment later, a thought both plausible and worrying.

He supposed he should have known better however; for where falmer lay underneath the ground they did so in great number, how great yet remained to be seen, though Reynald and all realised they would soon found out as the caught sight of a passageway bright against moonlight.

It was up going a long rutted circular structure; perhaps so aged that everything about it had simply faded away, into the now fallen night that was calm amongst an endless maze of stars.

Reynald ascended to the hilltop and overlooked where there relative salvation lay; finding a frost fallen vale that looked to have fallen ill of Skyrim's worst sort of weather, staggeringly white and crisp the place looked untouched for eras at first sight.

That was not the case however, something clearly seen as he saw through the thick snow drifts to see a repeating dotting of blackness upon the paleness of the snow, he trudged forward some many feet before he reached the end of the mountain rift they were upon, all two score or however many remained saw the truth of the matter and lost heart at the sight before them.

The patches of black upon white where not scoured rock or ebony veins of great expanse; they were _moving_ in some respects; in great swathes of almost miasma like passage, "Are those _people?_" one dunmeri asked in confusion as she caught onto what the rest suspected.

Milisi and Reynald at the same time thought to cast a wide arc of _detection_ around them; both threw their hand away in disgust not a moment later, "How many are there?" Serana asked a moment away, Reynald only shook his head and plodded himself in the snow.

She herself as a skilled conjurer could cast something of alteration; and when she did she looked haunted, "There are hundreds of them…maybe more" was what she said; in that soft voice of hers that came around when she was shocked, Reynald was so mortified that he forget to laugh, "an army…a bloody army of falmer, look at all those tents down there in open field – what are they doing there?" It couldn't have been anything good for Skyrim; the nords or anyone.

"What are we going to do then?" Serana asked; coming up to his side and dropping down to eye level, her eyes were the only warmth to be seen in a world now silver and black, "We try and move by them…we hope that we don't get surrounded and mauled" a terrible answer if he was honest and Serana told him as much "So you'll just let these creatures mass like this? I'm no tactician but I'd say underground creatures swarming about ground near a way into Skyrim is a bad thing" Now he minded her dry comments, of course he bloody knew that – but did he have an army on hand to pull out of his helmet when required?

"I can march down there; shout a few hundred of them down and then the rest can run right in and murder us…how does that sound?" he replied in a sullen tone, but Serana persisted "What about the dragon…Dumhilvaar…he said he would come if you summoned him" She was right of course; the festering dragon had said as much in pledge to Reynald's mastery, "One dragon isn't enough to displace these falmer, and if their numbers stretch further then even he and Odhaviing would not be enough." They would need many dragons to displace these falmer, yet only two held to his thu'um as the rest had displaced themselves with Paarthurnax.

Paarthurnax…that gave him a faint hope of an idea; perhaps a way to settle whatever malicious intent these falmer had in their twisted minds.

Reynald wondered how much one of Skyrim's fiercer threats wished to make amends for past wrongs, to save a land that they themselves had once so fiercely oppressed, Reynald got up from where he lay and looked to the sky – blustering with wind and the frost.

"_**Paar Thur Nax" **_he shouted knocking aside the storm and clouds; the dunmeri and redguard all cursed around him while the valley floor below began to scramble in alarm.

The currents continued around after the momentary influx of power; and all that remained was the knowledge that the host off falmer below knew of something afoot.

Then the storm was halted again as a old friend thundered back.


	21. The Great Blood Death

Hello; this chapter ends dawnguard, and is probably not entirely spell checked due to lurker's busting my chops to get it done, anyway I hope you all enjoy it, a review wouldn't go a miss you know :-/

Oh and btwm anyone know where to get good art for Skyrim/Elder Scrolls ?

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><p>Murky and frost ridden; ceaseless in its coursing fire, the skyline was set aflame by a thundering strike of silver fury, cutting through the dense fog and illuminating the exterior of the <em>fallen fort <em>erratically.

It had started - and permitted through all the festivities of the innards of the fort itself, with all its dancing redguards, quiet and smiling dunmeri, and singing and balling nords, a collection of ease and joy fit for any victor's respite.

Not that this place – just north of darkfall cave was the field of victory; for there had been no bloody battle fought here, yet for all intensive purposes it would have been the first place saved if not for their drastic – heroic – and _bloody _actions within the hidden vale.

It had began as a hasty fight and flight, like the struggle towards her mother and the blood scroll, Reynald at the forefront while an enormous dragon shuddered everything in front of them, falmer and their creatures; splitting their weapons and frenzying them with its beguiling thu'um.

The numbers of the falmer numbered massed around them meant little; they would get clear if the ancient beast provided its protection.

It had changed in a moment however, when they happened across pieces of warfare none could mistake; great arsenals of black fettered arrows and thick curving blades, with great trunks of wood chopped and fixed with handles, troves of armour and creature pens stretching out towards the end of the blanketed vale and the limits of their vision.

Weapons of war rather than raiding, long staves for standing up in sustained battle and innumerable shields; bows and thick motley armour, with thick oak's and coiled ashen wood for use as rams and ladders.

So near an unguarded approach to Skyrim? – It was not difficult to determine what it all amounted too.

Not for her; not for the redguard or dunmeri cursing around her, not for Reynald who had been affixed at the front with a grim look upon his usually stoic features, it had only been another few moments before he called to his great companion in that guttural – reverberating voice of his.

She couldn't follow the booming words in the lost language; couldn't determine what made the dragon _snarl_ and toss his wings, couldn't determine what Reynald thundered thrice to it in response.

All she could see was that it was not good for those falmer pouring out from caves around to encircle them; pouring arrows into their huddled their ranks, as that one terrible cry of the beast was joined by a faint other – and another from that – and yet another from that until it sounded like nirn would rupture and fall in upon itself.

Then they came in dozens – a hundred perhaps, roaring and savage across the stark vale, sweeping around them in arcing twists that near dispersed all the howling wind and snow, until they couldn't see the people around them in a flurry of snow and ice.

Then came all the flame and ice that had lashed across the heavens and into their private depth of oblivion even as it looked so peaceful and serene to its nature.

Reynald's thu'um had struck once again and the world was turned to blood and gore because of it; every winged ancient beast in their immense power and savagery swooping low to engulf the massed falmer in explosions of flame and gulfs of ice, some slammed to the snow and ice beneath with enough force to shake her being to the core, while Reynald ordered them forward with his blade hanging high.

It wasn't a fight and flight no longer; not a retreating action or guileful tactic, for the dragonborn of long renown had just ordered the extermination of this depraved elvin army, root and tip.

She wondered if his heart twisted underneath his steeled expression, or whether he was glad to put them to their end as the falmer fell in their scores.

Whether it was vengeance or pity the result of the fight was no different; and every man and mer gave no quarter as they knew the same would be theirs, the dragons to the last thought not a second about quarter, it seemed oblivious to them.

Their battle was set across the entirety of the vale; passing through all its beauty with blood gushing across the felt ice behind, a sea of red through the high silver shores, potch marked with dozens upon dozens of smoking and cold tipped corpses.

This wasn't simply the stretch of valley they inhabited but the hillocks and sweeping mountain passes leagues ahead, and when the dragons had finished scouring the materials they all roared off ahead to complete the falmers destruction, it made gathering the necessary ingredients for access Auriel's great place of worship, bodies littered the entire distance of their march.

It didn't take more than two watches to traverse the entirety of the valley but more than the night could offer; the whole time filled with the terrible screams of the dragons as they went out silencing the falmer, their roars pummelling the sky and cracking the ground for all the terrible din, but their own blades were not left dry and near on three centuries as Serana counted had fell as they ascended the many mounts and traversed the cave paths.

Sitting amongst the revelling warriors she felt stupid and out of place; she was a vampire after all, stuck in a noisy room filled back to front with normal men and mer, as cloistered in yet as any yet as far from them as she could ever be, the big redguard beside her ignored her as he turned to shout at another man across the room wedged in one of the few available dining chairs, and she knew he was only non repulsed by her because he was drunk on victory and life – she had seen the look in all their eyes as she'd morphed against Vyrthur, something she couldn't avoid.

It had been him who'd started the prochecy; stolen her life and ruined her family, turned how many hundreds or thousands of falmer to his will in order to bring a storm down upon an unsuspecting Skyrim and beyond.

Her skin had grown pasty and undead as he told her off his plans, her teeth went to an unquenchable maw as he howled at her father's stupidity, all her hate and anger had bore her disgusting form forward tearing into limb and body without a single thought of respite or mercy.

She could still feel the chunks of flesh and narrow beneath her fingers long after she'd washed her hands clean, seen all the bodies of their massacre strewn in her dreams as they'd departed and rested, how could she be a daughter of cold harbour if all this weakness had consumed her.

It was Reynald she knew, Milisi and all that respect shown by every passing mer, the redguard who sat beside her but apart, she didn't feel she was part of the celebrations even if it was her who'd slain the arch-curate Vyrthur, _You'd not have gotten close without Reynald or these 'mere' mortals_ she knew though, hadn't even tried to deny it.

It had been Reynald who had gathered the dragons; who'd gathered all the greatest warriors of lands far away for her never to have even glimpsed, he'd been the one who'd blown away all the crushing slabs of the chantry as the curate had attempted to swat them beneath his power.

_What did you do daughter? Slay a broken elf half mad and beaten _Her father's voice mocked her, sending her out into the grumbling night and away from all the happiness, she suddenly felt very upset – angry but at what she couldn't even tell.

At first it had been the arch-curate, who she despised so much she couldn't help but feel justification in telling Gelebor it had been him and not the falmer who had perverted the vale, but that had fallen at the wayside, against thoughts of her father being so foolish – that Reynald had stolen a part of her victory from her, it had been him who gelebor had given the bow to after all.

Perhaps it was something simpler than that; something she didn't want to admit, that all the ones who'd fought with her – died with her were celebrating, acting as friends between the nords who owned the fort and the redguard and dunmer alike who'd gained shelter with Reynald, she wasn't not invited to the festivities, she was simply a_ vampire._

All the power of draining a soul; enveloping yourself in a husk of fear and fangs, it all meant nothing when you didn't want power or death, Reynald held the ability for both but when she got outside the heavy gate of the forts fortified hearth she found him in the company of many men and some mer.

One of the chief nords sons – Halrf she thought was his name; near keeled over when Reynald presented him with an elvish _snow_ blade he'd been given by knight paladin Gelebor, an item that would fetch thousands of credits in the hands of a collector of rare antiquities, the man was so genial people naturally flowed towards him, her…well even people who'd she'd been in battle with paid her as little attention as possible.

She didn't notice Milisi approach her as she got away from the press of those outside; Serana was too far in her own thoughts, "Not in the moment for having a libation lady Serana?" the dunmeri chieftain asked; beneath a shallow pitch black cowl that helped against the bawling winds, Serana couldn't help but focus on her bloody gaze "I – ah…wanted to get some air" she lied flatly, always put at unease by the incessant insistence of the mer "I'm not used to big gatherings." That was yet another lie; she'd spent years at her father's table at huge gatherings of vampires and _cattle_, she'd at least been somewhat comfortable there.

"Perhaps it's all those redguards off-putting you?" Milisi asked with a small smile, "they are rowdy when the achieve victory, or even when they don't" she laughed at her own playful jibe, voice having a singsong quality to it, "Don't worry about it however; I think our dragon warrior is equally at edge" the dunmeri inclined her head and passed her, leaving her unshielded against the wind, Reynald was still some ways ahead in one of the tents erected behind the palisades of the nordic camp.

Serana saw her chance as the nords veered off for the fortification itself; slipping past them in the darkness of the small gardens they'd pitted, a few dunmeri likewise retreated before she went to the mostly barren open tent, serving as a rough planning area rather than anywhere for them to room in, Reynald turned as soon as he heard her purposely scrape her boot against the dirt.

"You shouldn't sneak up on people" he said without a slight hint or anger, more irritation if anything, "afraid of assassins?" she asked in response to which he snorted, "If an assassin marched about banging his feet everywhere he'd not do much damage, you sound more like a drifting cow hoofing about. My father always told me never to drag my boots" Inside the room was a few loose chairs, a decrepit store serving as a rough table, wine and mead littered about in the fashion of most nordic tables, Reynald went to pour a mug of ale but then settled for having it from the bottle.

"Thirsty are we?" she asked to his hasty decision, but he replied after near choking down the entire thing "You're right I am, I've spent half the day talking to the Spaldir's; Carslrung's and Carrae's entire clans, not to mention having words with Milisi and Lathar, worrying about how many men we'll have at the assault date. I've been like a man surrounded by sea water." He looked as ragged as he described, with dark lined eyes and a rough cheek bones, that entire person who'd led them determinately through the roving battle.

"What about you?" he asked her after she wondered on his state of mind for a moment, "I'm fine…vampires don't have the luxury of getting merry" he looked at her near astounded, "You can't get drunk – can't fall over and make an arse of yourself? What's the bloody point in that?" _what is the bloody point _was a good question "So what do you do for fun…actually don't tell me I'd rather not know. I have a better question in fact" She saw a flicker – the slightest hint of hesitation in his eyes, "Are you ready for this; for all the blood and gore that's going to come? It'll be your fathers we'll be spilling this time, no elusive snow elf hidden in an ice fortress." Serana was as quite to answer as he had asked; a slight rush of words after a small hesitation.

"Yes; Harkin has to die, it always was going to come to this, me or him" was her answer, resolute and unyielding, her father had stopped being her father _thousands _of years ago, but it still meant something that he'd cared to ask, "I've seen too much of this new Skyrim not to want to save it, my type are all murderers and savages" _but not me?_ She always wanted to add, suddenly thinking she'd prefer it if Reynald – or anything said it for her.

He smiled first handing her one of the brown tinted bottles, before his voice became mellow "I can't disagree, your father has already cost hundreds in lives and all sorts of madness, the people of Dawnstar will take years to get over their terror" Serana felt the guilt wash over her, "But evil men will always do good people injustice; and vampires while more akin to slaughter are not the purest examples of it" She took a heady gulp of the frosty beverage, relishing its fruity taste after a few days of dull water, Reynald stared at her fully for a moment, at a loss it seemed before he spoke again.

"Have you ever thought about being cured of your vampirisim?" he asked awkwardly almost; no strike to his voice as the norm "I realise I just said you're not all a bad sort; but you're not even the good sort if you follow" she didn't follow, but he spoke quickly as to give her no respite "I've met the sort who act in normality yet are the most power hungry and conniving sorts that a Daggerfall lord would be ashamed off…yet you're…well you're just you. No wild dreams of power or conquest, no smiting mortals for their insolence, not once have I seen you bear those pointy fangs of yours towards as much as a hammer headed nord. I suppose what I'm trying to say is…why are you a vampire?"

If he'd asked her when they met; or perhaps even when they only ran across Skyrim once she would have dismissed him as foolish, all the ideas of power and long life came easy in those days, but now it seemed for every year she was granted she'd spend a thousand individual moments alone, for every ounce of life she sapped she could remember how many she'd saved.

It was all great and fine to be some undead lord when you wanted unlimited power and hordes of thralls at your command…but what happened when you just wanted to have happiness or a family?

She couldn't answer; not honestly, not to a mortal, not when she sat in the camp of those marching forward to decimate her father's ranks – kill the horror himself, instead she threw up all the ice she could "I'm a daughter of cold harbour – not some common blood sucker, I'm a vampire because I was chosen by Molag Bol." She was angry and confused all at once, confused as to why she was angry and vice versa, all of the pain and sacrifice had to have been for something.

"Molag Bol is the prince of rape – a bloody brutal daedric lord even amongst that malevolent lot. You're trying to tell me you're happy to be associated with that?" Serana let the anger flow from her mouth before she could help herself "You're really someone to talk about daedric lords aren't you, a big lord running around laying waste to hundreds in pursuit of some peace – and for what? Just to start another bloody war!" She didn't know if it was the looks passed off to her in the fort, or Reynald's usual wily gait that annoyed her, but she was near furious "I'm a vampire; what of it? I just want to live my life; at least I won't take hundreds and thousands with me to do it."

Reynald smiled that small smile of his; slightly crooked but with almost no teeth, "Take some ale" he offered her one of the bottles which she accepted, not drinking at first, he always looked that way of inscrutable way of wiliness when he was insulted, attempting to appear non-fussed.

"I didn't mean to insult you Serana, but I did mean what I said, you're not the sort of girl who associates herself with daedric princes" Serana wasn't willing to explain it, not all of what her very existence came to in the middle of the night before she was going to attack her own home, "I'm not talking about this…not now…not while the fate of all this hangs in the balance. I'm going to rest, I'll see you in the morning" With that she left, not looking back through the streaking wind and snow but instead making for the light encampment they'd set up and getting inside her allotted tent.

Small and cramped against a multitude of other equally well pitched; boring and slightly odorous havens from the stiff breeze, inside was no light save that she cast herself and a scamp of fur bedding lain with goat wool on its innards, it was uncomfortable, though still welcome given the long days they'd experienced.

She'd thought her mind would drift to Reynald; to Harkon or the war, but rather inexplicably – madly she dozed off without a thought to her mind, no great bluster of brimming fire and pain associated with Molag Bol and his will, no thoughts of her mother or father or Reynald himself.

The following day she woke up to the gentle insistence of a passing dunmeri; horses and men could be heard directly outside her own tent, feeling rested yet unsteady Serana quickly exited the tent without so much as an attempt to unwrinkle her well worn travellers garb.

None of the rest looked to have washed or mended themselves from the gathering last night, several of the nearby redguards bemoaned the effects of the night as they slung their packs and gripped their weapons.

Reynald as per the norm was in Milisi's company; both of them armed and armoured in the lighter quilts held with metal pins rather than the magnificent armour set they wore across set battlefields, the contrast between the ranks of her assembled dunmeri was stark, fragrant and vibrant looking against the under the cuff redguards.

While she readied her pack against her temporary home Reynald was visited by the threes heads of the nord families who'd inhabited the defiled orc fortress, three men of the usual sort followed by broad chinned boys and wide hipped girls as children.

All of them fawned over Reynald like courtesans and suitors, offering gifts of food and fine as was all they had seemingly, taking it with a gracious smile he had it all loaded in packs as they prepared to move out into the clear day above them, Serana again avoided the families and awaited the order to march.

It came as Reynald finished his parting; him in behind with Milisi and her dunmer in their navy cloaks and slung spears, Serana at the middle with all the redguard's and their gleaming weapons and long bows hidden with cloth behind the leading Lathar Mathis.

As it had often been in those misty and deserted parts; the march was tedious and boring, with not a bit of game or trouble even to be found along the road to where her father's castle lay, she spoke barely a word to any around her and didn't turn behind as they made an entire day of slipping through brambles and overrun roadways, across the narrow passes and wide hillocks that dotted the northwestern part of Skyrim's terrain.

All through the day Serana fussed over why she'd gotten so annoyed with Reynald, when she knew what his views were, it was like getting annoyed at a vampire for liking the taste of blood; fruitless and detrimental for all it was worth.

With that in mind she made to apologise; or at least talk to the man as they settled down in the husk of an abandoned watch tower guarding the north western path to Haafingar, surprised she found him asleep already in his tent as the night only began to break in.

That meant for another night she was listless and upset; if still peaceful in her sleep, as much as someone who's waking hours consumed by the bane of the undead could be.

She thought about her father; dismissed the grief of acting against him over again for a thousand times, about all the people he'd harmed her own family included, just to get the anger rising where the guilt had first been held, in the end she'd settled to a miserable sleep which lasted only until the break of sunlight through the half shorn tower.

She woke up to find near everything resembling heavier gear and garb packed away; armour shown and weapons gleamed in the sun as Reynald at the husk of a smaller tower informed them in all that they were only half a day from where they would make their attempt at her father's castle, Serana herself could have swore they would need at least until the darkness to reach the icewater jetty.

She'd rather get on with it all things considered, as would all those around her by the way the redguards grumbled and the dunmeri sighed, it was hard to forget that in all of this these elite –expert warriors were really just mercenaries in this situation.

Getting on with things as they did; Serana managed to wind her way up to the forefront of the marching party, in beside Reynald who led them through the sea of frosted forest that inhabited the north most region of Skyrim, a veritable haven, all rough country that had not suffered any inhabitation in what looked to be hundreds of years.

"Still angry?" he asked as they got through a patch of thickets; past the myriad of mountain peaks to be found at Skyrim's north west corner – a sort of natural protection against the Direnni she'd always supposed, much like the rest of Skyrim's high rising borders, "I've decided to forgive you" she quietly told him, careful of the men following close behind, Reynald smiled as she did.

"You're a fair and generous lady" he told her just as they cleared the worst of the rough greenery – or rather _whiteness_, leading them into three rising hillocks that seemed to lead into a full on drop, "I was actually worried you might be holding it against me; given what we're about to do" she snorted at that, would have crossed her arms defensively in jest if they weren't moving, "destroy my home and killing my father you mean?" the smile actually left his face for once, it took her a moment to realise how just morbid that sounded.

As they made for the first uprising hill Serana grabbed Reynald's hand under her own cloak; careful that it looked like nothing to those behind, looking at her in surprise he was the only one close enough to hear her speak.

"Look – I know I've been unbearable at times; I know how much it's taken out of you to oppose my father" she actually squeezed his hand, lightly and awkwardly, surprised at herself yet revelling slightly in how hot his hand was, it was the first person she'd touched in years – thousands by actual count, "I just want you to know I don't – or won't hold it against you"

Reynald didn't pull his hand away – mercifully, she'd been afraid he would take it the wrong way, perhaps prove his sentiments on her people after all, but he didn't even waver one finger "You're on the road to killing your father; burning down your family home and slaughtering whatever semblance of a family you have. I doubt anyone would be in a good spirits."

They reached the first high point, ascending up through the ankle high snow to where Serana could clearly make out her not so far home in the sea of ghosts, weak and isolated against the memory of the looming dread fort she'd remembered, there was no more all consuming chill of fear she had felt on her last walk up the sprawling bridge way that led to the barbican, she didn't feel even a fingers worth now.

It was down to Reynald and his followers; Milisi and Lathar who were mortal men and mer and had fought and bloodied as well as any vampire, yet they had all fought for their own desires, not disgusting longings – that of protection of their own people or merely wishing to return to their homes.

The great lord Harkon fought only for power and death; and she was just a poor impersonation of whatever a vampire lord was truly meant to be, Reynald ushered her on towards his short cut, she had already decided her fate even before Harkon fell.

With determination and on Reynald's insistence she moved at as quick a path as the uneven and pitted terrain would allow, across the rises and mounts until finally they came to the sea front, lying below her at a cliff side just steep enough to be fatal if attempted wrong, Reynald leapt down first to the very precipice and looked to get ready to jump off the thing without ceremony, Serana noted that before her was the icewater jetty just ahead of the fall ground.

She could have called him crazy for it; only that she remembered that he could in fact levitate saved her from that same condescending smirk of his, many of the redguards were unhappy with the idea of simply tossing themselves over the edge and hoping for the best, graciously - irritably it seemed though that the dunmeri could ferry them all down.

It meant that in no time at all they were landing softly on the low lands of Skyrim's coastline, no worse for wear and with much better feet than they would have had for the long march around the long pathway to the jetty, "It's been four days since we made for the valley, my brothers must be here already" Lathar told them, halberd in hand as he marched up to the now ruined outpost, silence reined on the walls and behind them seemingly, "Keep your guard up!" Reynald shouted to Lathar's escaping figure.

He minded that not a little in his mind, marching forward ready to spear as he always looked to her, the rest of the redguards followed as did the cabal of dunmer, all they could hear was the squelch of snow under their boots – a weapon being bared here or there.

It was quiet until there was a glint of steel near the gateway and Lathar sprung to strike; his weapon being diverted at the last second to strike the wall rather than the robed figure who had appeared with a wicked looking flail in hand, "Aye Saiid you fool! I could have cut you in halves" Lathar swore to the man obviously familiar to him, some ways shorter and narrower to be like that of a regular man, "Apologies big brother! But we'd been driven into the bowels of this bloody crypt, we've only been managing to come up in the daytime when only these scum's minions are flying about." Serana heard the go between, deducted in a moment that the minions were the filthy gargoyle creatures that her father had bred, "How many have we lost then?" Lathar asked unhappily, "seven dead and three times as many wounded; we've been fighting nonstop for two days, if you had not came by they would have surely broken through."

They were indeed it looked like, as inside the barren fort there was little remains to be found of the gargoyles themselves; yet the doorways that had been barred and fitted with locks where near rendered from their hinges, blood was pooled about to suggest much bleeding of the injured, broken blades and arrow shafts littered the inner courtyard of the isolated fort.

"These creatures must have swarmed you to leave all the gore inside this place" Milisi noted with disapproval, perhaps she'd thought these redguard would be enough for the swarms, "let's see that happen tonight with Lathar around" the man replied confidently ignoring her, a smile on his face for the first time in perhaps days, he ushered all those on the insides of the fort to come up and greet the new arrivals and there would be saviours, in all they looked beleaguered and battle worn – though not beaten or broken as yet.

All of them thought it would be as good as idea as any to bolt up the doors; await the onset of a night battle and plan whatever method of defence appealed to the sensibilities of an angered Lathar, that was until the sounding of horns could be heard afar.

A man went upon the walls to find the disturbance and leapt in joy, "Banners of the men from Skyrim – the men of your kinship dragonborn no?" he asked Reynald, who without a pause went up and looked upon the advancing numbers, "Ah! Look at what we have behind us; braves, vampires killers and mages, we'll do more than sit back tonight" he was as close to elated as she'd seen him in days, but Serana was shaky, even as she fielded out to look at the numbers oncoming.

So they had come to Reynald's aid, in numbers greater than what the fort held by more than three score, with flags of blazon wolves and snarling bears, gold spun sabre cats and double headed trolls, all of them above men of thick armour and broad blades.

Behind this assembly of nordic braves were some comparatively few; in long cloaks of rich fabrics of every colour and design, in their hands were staves and staffs while above them clanged pendants and bells denoting the sigil of magnus.

They marched across the ice fields slowly; over the bluffs and through the shearing winds, and only until they got within bowshot could Serana make out those at the rear of the company, the sigil of the dawnguard of course.

As Reynald led the way out to greet them; Serana noted that under the banner of the nords was the same woman Reynald had conversed with days ago in the husk of the watchtower, coated in a fur vest that was underlain with a dull thicket of chainmail, she seemed to lead the procession despite being the most diminutive of the lot, "Hail Dragonborn! Our swords are yours!" they chanted on her opening, loud enough to be heard all the way to the soul cairn she thought, "Who is it that hails me harbinger?" Reynald asked in response, not looking half as mighty as the host of nords who led the fierce procession.

At that four great beasts of men stood forward; all of them coated in silver and gold coated plate armour, which across them was riveted with the hides of a bear; great cat; troll and wolf, leaving little to imagine who was who against their relative standards.

Still they announced themselves in all their pomp, the bear leader being Gautr Harn from west of Karthwasten, a man of prodigious strength it appeared who was forced to flee against the tide of forsworn it occurred, greeting Reynald with a fierce snarl of a voice – hidden behind beady white eyes.

The warrior who wore the sabre cat pelt like a fleece was a far younger man; near half the age of the white bristled Harn, Edda Lemba was his name, sharp faced and lethal as the very animals hide he wore; Serana suspected the man could be very cruel with the blade in his black scabbard indeed.

He gave Reynald a graceful bow and salute; before eyeing up the men and mer behind him with suspicion not veiled in the slightest, "I come from the wastes of the pale; south of the old bannard creek, if I had been near Dawnstar then those vampires would not find their game so easy." he allowed those others with him ahead with that assurance.

Respectivly the wolf and troll men were Freyr Freyja and Vanir Olrun, men of eldery age who looked closer to death than life, still both white bearded men held their swords in hand, bringing what looked like the least in concern to the numbers of men, "We will fight as best we can with you; hero of Skyrim" Vanir promised for them both, Reynald accepted with his usual courtesy and had the men brought forward.

Serana was not wrong in her first assumption, as in all the men where fiercely armoured for battle; she saw every sort of weapon from the sickle to the spear held in mail clad fists, while near all men wore thick helms and junctions of plate to make them virtually untouchable against the most savage of attacks, it was strange to think that on this occasion it would be those within castle Volkinar who would be at a disadvantage.

The mages that followed thought the same it seemed; as on arriving their lead – the dunmeri Dralas informing Reynald frankly that they were here to provide support and nothing else, "I've had staffs made that will allow my mages to allow you over the water, to learn restoration spells to ward off these vermin, but you'll be using these nords for the butchers work. We aren't here to destroy these beasts" Content at the numbers; or simply not wishing to waste any more time arguing with the narrow faced dunmer Reynald accepted, allowing the mages to go past and prepare.

It left them facing Isran and his faction of vampire hunters, Skald and Florentius were there in their ranks as she knew them, but the rest were hard faced dunmer and nords, some of the brutal looking pariah folk and a small few lighter skinned men, "A fine collection of warriors you've assembled dragonborn, just about enough to sack this vile keep I'd think" With a growl Isran approached them, shining eyes looking as eager and lusty as Serana had seen him, "I see you've brought trolls" Reynald replied dryly, and so he had, fierce looking beasts armoured in iron, Serana thought they'd get on well with her father's gargoyles.

"I see you're still carrying about this _dead wood_" Isran remarked to Serana with unmistaken ferocity, she'd be insulted if she didn't despise the savage "Serana's proved her worth in gold Isran, she helped me get the bow and stop the prophecy" Reynald protested but to no avail, "More like proved her worth in innocent blood" his disgust would go on long after his body was dust and bone, she couldn't even fathom how he'd manage without 'the great vampire menace'.

Necessary as he was Reynald led the man forward so that they could get a good look at the castle her father inhabitated, "A great fortress…immune to the arcane and mundane alike. We'll either have to goad them out or start an encirclement" The redguard stated quite obviously Serana thought, Reynald however looked to the words as difficult truths.

"We'll have no success if we attack it outright, and the supporting routes inside are blocked off. It would take us weeks to procure siege weapons; and those walls are thick enough to withstand even my thu'um" Reynald sounded at a loss, but as always he had an idea rattling around in his mind "I don't think Harkon is willing to stay cooped up like a cornered skeever, he'll take it as a slight against his 'majesty'. We'll set up a defence here; then we will send him a challenge. I don't doubt he'll wait past nightfall to attack." Reynald paced off with the dawnguard behind at that, some of which gave her uneasy stares, but Serana was more concerned with the 'wait until night approaches part of their plan'.

Catching up she got in front of the two leaders; irritating Isran as she stalled them, "You can't simply just wait until dark; my father will send out his court and slaughter you in your ranks" she complained to deaf ears it seemed, "We'll need to draw him out, because he won't fight fairly like a good vampire lord" Reynald sardonically told her, "The mages know a little bit about warding off the undead; and the rest know more than a little about slaying anything that comes their way. Don't worry about the plan, just get your mind right" That was a brush off, and she didn't attempt to argue given the man's stubbornness, she did however follow along as they centred inside the small keep to conduct an impromptu council, she was sure many noted that the sun had dipped.

It was short for a war council; and it seemed that none who had came with her wished to do anything save inflict some injury upon the vampires, Lathar near frothing at the mouth at the thought of his dead men, Isran only offered that his men be placed about the ranks to help them all ward off the undead masters of the castle, "I've got a small team who will be useful when we come up against this _lord _Harkon or his court as she calls it." Isran referring to her as a she rather than it was an improvement, yet she still didn't feel right just allowing her father to ambush them in the dark.

Reynald wouldn't budge; and neither Isran nor Milisi could be likely to give her the time of day, so instead she went into the stockade and onto the walls, looking out over the sea of ghosts and unto the battlements of her home.

There she saw the gate guard come alert as a missile was fired from Lathar's great bow; take up the missive attached and bring it inside to the feasting hall, Reynald; his wispy female companion and Milisi took to the rampart closer to the shore, below the redguards began to fill out and integrate themselves with the nordic warriors and the dawnguard, the mage's set up their baggage in a far corner away from the massing.

Serana could remember times before this era had even been thought to begin; when dying elvin kingdoms and those uprising of men had tried to wrest north-western Haafingar from her father, both sorts sending small forces against a bygone race of creatures, creatures that she'd watched – and helped slaughter in their camps as they slept.

It never had felt right to attack them so dishonourably; sickening to hold the lives of pleading men in her hands, and now here she was awaiting with one such army to be massacred again perhaps, but Reynald didn't look like the type to be slain in his sleep – he looked as strong as the gilded elvin warrior that she'd seen her father reave personally once upon a time, but she knew he was much more than that.

He would be the one if any to bring an end to her father; and just as the night began to fade into the darkness, she knew that any love she held for her father had went just the same.

It was a waiting game; near all of the force secreted in the place while a few of the redguards stayed upon just under the walls as they had done so before, Serana herself waited along with Reynald and Aela, as she learned her name, upon the midsection of the small wooden rampart.

It was all tension and quietness when night fell, Isran and his dawnguard along with the mages retiring with the remainder of the force under the main fortress.

No one spoke; no one moved, a watch passed until Reynald perked up along with his nordic compatriot, neither shared a word but instead lookedtowards castle Volkinar, the shadowed redguards in their quilts and linen saw the movements and grasped their clefted axes and arching swords.

Serana almost asked them what they saw; a moment before she saw something waft over the opposing side of the stone battlements, "Mistwalker" she shouted in alarm, casting a swathe of lighting towards the vampire that would have been right upon Reynald's flank, only scattering and displaced the creature for a moment, but it was enough for Reynald and Aela to pull their weapons free.

They were outnumbered though; more than the first mistwalker appeared and formulated on the battlement walls, with Reynald casting a shielding spell around him and Aela to give them a violet hue across their armour and skin. Serana joined them as they met them across the walls; dragonsword and dual blades added to with her own slashing sword, matching the twisted steel of the vampires and pushing them from the short parapet.

Using blades and their draining life castings worked well for her kin as they were; but Reynald 's incantation meant that it availed them not, Aela the huntress as Reynald introduced her as was as swift as the blades of hers could be; slashing through her opponent wrist – jaw – and heart before Reynald hacked her upwards off the walls.

Serana leapt at her own foe but was met with a retreat; cast into the air and onto the frozen ground surrounding the fort, Serana's heart would have stopped if it wasn't already as she looked out onto the ice.

Her elusive brethren were joined by the worst sorts of _all _sorts; skeletons in ragged scraps and rusted mail, holding blades of every shape and sort, living men were their too in their loose massing, looking just as haunted in their sunken faces as their undead comrades did.

"Call them out! Light the fires!" Aela clambered down to the redguards, who banged on the gateways to the innards of the small fort, "our enemy has appeared!" they chanted as the gates were open, Reynald blasted the snow and those upon them to give them some leeway as to meet them without a grudge match at the narrow gateway.

Her head whirled from being so near him when he _shouted;_ but the effect was so much so that their own force could bound up the stairs and out onto the snow, Reynald leapt down into the midst of the nords who were first on hand, Serana acted as a sentinel on the walls as the men began to slam their weapons against their hardened shields, baying for blood.

"Fight them to the last! For Skyrim! For the nords!" Reynald shouted in his imperious voice, more a general than man now, around him the nords howled in frenzy and threw themselves forward in a surge of bloodlust. Serana could only make them out by the gleam of their polished arms and armour, all of it smashing through the vampires and their horrible unranked horde.

The mages came up onto the ramparts of the fortification and began casting illumination around the battlefield; lighting up the carnage of the nords as they hacked their way through the muddled ranks before them, Reynald at the head was irresistible with his dragonblade hacking through the flailing zombies, she heard Isran snarl to her side as he saw the fight unfold, "Galmar; get the repeaters."

Milisi got up to the walls along with Lathar; redguards and dunmeri filing out into the fort itself behind them, "Where did all these vermin come from?" Lathar demanded in his typical harsh tones, Milisi surveyed a moment longer before asking the same thing, Serana was clueless.

"I don't know, maybe they were waiting here for an attack?" she put it out there while the battle spread out, with more dark shades of what were once men came filing into the sphere of the mage castings, their numbers it seemed coming from the darkness were not limited to even a half of those that the nords had already slain, "This lot are a bunch of corpses. No one would fight against an army of men with these" Lathar told them suspiciously, and he had a point, the men in the field had ran through the force in front of them so far, now strung out and having near pushed them off the field.

It left them far out towards the coastline and away from the fort; enough to worry Milisi who began to order them back, afraid that they would fall afoul of a trap inside the darkness, Reynald was too far afield to be seen, the nords were busy snarling and hollering to be called back, Serana looked outside into the nightshade in worry, until a shrill screech reverberated through the sky.

Not so piercing as to render her or those around her useless, it was enough so make many dunmeri hold their ears against the assault, Serana could have slapped herself for being so stupid; of course it was a diversion, one bloody enough to allow the nords to become strung out.

"Gargoyles" she shouted to those around her as the shades in the night sky came to them; blotting out the moons almost in such a great number as to make her break out in a fearful sweat, Lathar only snarled to the sky with his blade ready to be plunged forward.

The fortification almost shattered as it was attacked; by gargoyles large enough to stand level with the man imposing himself between them and her, several of the blood eyed, black scaled, golden clawed beasts leapt directly into the ranks of the men and mer alike, many were able to tear into flesh and bone before they could be slain or driven off.

The nords could have turned then and helped fight off the new menace she thought; casting dispersion magics into the night sky, only for the gargoyles to _thump_ into the ground across the field and take the warriors on in only clumps, these beasts fought fiercer than any rattan boned skeletons or drained thralls, Serana held her blade close as she saw men and mer around her torn to shreds.

Lathar and Milisi were close however; Lathar not so wild as to depart the battlements when there was enough fare around, Milisi went to and fro in her stark white armour casting spells of every hue and effect that Serana believed she could ever have seen, nords behind still attempted to press back across the field but were seen to be pitched down by an incessant landing of gargoyles too many to number in the haze of battle, her father had been horrifically busy.

A huge beast; easily the head of Lathar and above landed atop the battlements and near decapitated her with its snaking wing, she was only saved herself by Isran firing some weapon into the beasts back, it _rap-rap-rap-rapping _sound near silenced by its howl.

She was astounded, so much so that the beast was able to catch her on its downward swipe, throwing herself sidewards and rolling away from the following flurry she managed only to have her arm dug into deeply, magicka availed her not as a burst of lighting sizzled against its hide, Serana saw the lust of slaughter in its golden eyes and turned away – throwing herself into the field outside the 'protection' of the fort.

It was filled with battling nords and gargoyles, butchering each other over fields of smashed skeletons and slain thralls, howling above her the beast turned to follow only for the glint of Lathar's halberd to be seen, Serana got up and searched the field near on frantically for Reynald.

She couldn't see him no matter where she looked; the mages had been inside the fort across the walls when the gargoyles had attacked, none of them could busy themselves within anything else than survival. The illumination began to go dark leading further damage to the morale of the nords, Serana knew something of illusion and began to do what she could to keep the battlefield lit up in the darkness, but it was akin to saving a sinking boat with a bucket and pale.

The battle sounded to wax harder in the fort; blood spurted over the parapet drenching her across the face and mouth, reflexively she licked the blood away with her tongue, sweet and tangy; she relished the taste for only a moment, before she realised it had probably belonged to one of those men and mer she'd stood beside on the walls only moments before.

The thought made her retch, in the snow against the cold wall face while the battle continued, thankfully no one took notice of her against the wall in a mess of vomit and blood, her arm was useless and blood poured freely from the wound.

The battle waxed so badly that she thought the nords would break away from their attempts on the base, but as she had seen; or heard or read off, when a battle went awry tides could be turned at one moment. This one came for them with a great explosion of noise from the darkness beyond where Serana could not see, a _tearing _that enveloped the whole coast, pitching high enough to startle every creature and man who were in the struggle.

No one could guess what caused the event; until a great shade many times the greatest gargoyle came forward in the night sky, louder and shriller than what all of those foul beasts could manage, it snarled and exulted as it flew in a sweeping arch over the fort and across the sea line, Serana heard another shout – men this time from the clearing.

It was easy to hear them even over the dragon, "DRAGONBORN! DRAGONBORN! DRAGONBORN!" the chant reached the sky; adding to the thunder that struck the sky, suddenly and unnaturally, lighting began to lash across the trampled snow while a thick torrent of rain poured down – all from a swirling vortex that ensnared the sky as far as could be seen.

There was no more darkness; too much lighting struck around, startling the night with an ethereal hue, levelling droves of the gargoyles across the fields, the nords rejoiced and turned back to the fortress through the thinned gargoyles, slaying them one to many as they went.

The rain helped wash away the blood; the nords rallying helped unlock the fighter inside her, she banished any thoughts of shame or guilt as Reynald crossed the small groove into her view, bloodied across his face and right shoulder, at a pace he ran with many nords around him in a protective formation, in his good hand his blade was aloft and he was thundering as he went – his injuries forgotten, "_**Ahkrin! Ahkrin! Ahkrin!**_ Courage! Courage my brothers!" he thundered and shouted, his men roared and joined their dragon ally above.

Serana joined them as they reached the gates; a surge of men and steel under a torrent of lighting and rain, she saw that the bear chieftain led the way sword and shield at hand, but he and his men resorted to using their combined strength to shove whatever creatures held the doorway, relentless the gargoyles fought yet their numbers availed them nothing – and down they went under the torrent of steel.

But Reynald instead cast a spell that gave him a faint hue of violet, and he leapt upwards, she quickly joined him; commanding herself to rise up onto the walls with Reynald, bodies of man and beast alike were lain along; redguards and gargoyles, at least one bloody cloaked mage and some of Milisi's dunmer, blood soaked the whole parapet and turned everything red or black, there was no snow.

Amazingly however; fortunately or not so, she didn't know, was that across the fortress was her father, standing in his putrid form of pallid flesh and fangs, his eyes ablaze while under his taloned grip he held a battered and bloodied redguard, one she did not know.

Bodies lay atop and inside the walls, around him where gargoyles and redguards, joined by a lamellar clad body and two of that distinctive sort she knew as her father's sort, lain half decapitated at Lathar's feet.

"So this is the great force who would finally fell the eternal lord – led by my daughter and some whelp" His voice was pompous rather than terrifying, his face was a mask of rancid flesh than power, Reynald standing slightly in front and across her – protectively almost, was not impressed, "Come to die with your cretins?" he asked even injured as he was, Serana saw distinctive puncture marks having punched through his shoulder.

Harkon eyed them all Serana could see; warily, more alert than his lazy guise would suggest, Lathar at one end had his gleaming halberd dripping with the blood of so many of Harkon's beasts and brood, while Milisi to the other sat in grim determination with hands coiled in fists of coiled destruction.

"Your days are done Harkon, you've slain your last man" Reynald warned coldly, sword loose in hand, hoping Harkon would release his man and strike at him personally for the comtempt shown, but he was not a fool, "You are but a spec on the histories; a worm that ravels his way through a few paltry years, I am the lord who shall conquer the son – I am the lord who will throw off the shackles of Nirn! Mark my words boy, this day will be your last." Grotesquely Harkon threw out his hand; pulling the man apart in them with such brutality that those around him recoiled in disgust; saving Lathar and Milisi both who attempted to strike him mundanely and arcanely alike.

His form gave him wings to fly away off into the night, "By the end of this day your head will hang by my alter, mark my words – DRAGONBORN!" he turned away, flapping away back to his dark hole, nothing undead or vile stirred save her, bodies lay about in such great density that people could barely move without falling over someone.

Reynald sagged a little; steeping over the corpse of the mage and settling down against the edge of the wall, "Who did we lose?" he asked sitting down, the act so unnatural given how much blood surrounded them, "Celann, two others of my guard." Isran answered some way aside in the fort, clearing struggling to stand, "There's bodies everywhere, let's just settle on who's alive" Dralas gave a moment later, looking wretched with a deep gouge into his lower chest, another mage frantically applied a poultice to the wound.

It was easier it seemed after a time to count the living, as they had quite easily lost half their number, to death more than injury as was usually the case, "those creatures didn't give one part of quarter. Arkay could barely save me" a grievously wounded Florentius told them as she was carted in on a sled serving as a litter, "knocked me off the wall and near on caved my head in", "It wasn't arkay you bloody ingrate, it was me" Skald complained, looking fine to the world despite his ragged flop of hair and blood soaked brow.

Many others were injured but thankfully alive, and on Reynald and Lathar's unrelenting notion of attacking a count for thirty warriors was given, an easily matched.

Redguard's and dunmeri; nords and dawnguard alike clambered to get into the thrity select as the sun came upon them, Reynald ordered Isran – who had gotten over his harsh knock to select them, Serana while being worked on saw the man take himself off to the fields were a host of dead lay.

It seemed strange for him to be there before he shouted again, a strange and low curse that caused no fire or ice; no thunder or lightening, but rather a violet mess of flesh and puss, expanding and enveloping the space in front of him until it morphed into the semblance of a dragon.

_Durnehviir_ she realised, the dragon that had thundered at them earlier and then disappeared, Reynald had summoned him from the soul cairn.

Summoned him for good reason, commanding with an upraised hand that the dragon tear her father's barbican down, "Melt it all my friend, and I shall bring you back to this world" he'd said as the great beast threw itself upwards, onto the great castle where it began to shriek and pour fire at castle Voliknar.

Reynald approached them again; torn shirt and all still around him and gave a useless assurance that the dragon would do its work, "Have you got thirty?" he asked Isran, who smiled savagely in response, "It looks like we have sixty; half of whom can fight only half as well as they think thay can, but want to kill twice as many vampires." The man relished the thought of all these men willing to fight his enemy, but Serana couldn't blame him, not with all these corpses around.

"Any who can swing a sword can come as reserves" Reynald replied, eager himself to end things, turning to Dralas he told him to ready his mages for their 'water walk', everything was going now; all those willing marched out together as brothers in a battle, not one redguard or nord turned away.

Serana wouldn't sit this out; not even with her arm feeling weak, she got into the assembly with the rest while Reynald took to the front, looking gallant against the pure backdrop of the fresh morning sky, even the flaming dragon couldn't disrupt him.

"Men of Skyrim; men of Hammerfell, mer of Morrowind and those of the Dawnguard, brothers in the fight against the tyranny of Harkon, now is the end of this 'great lord' – a throwback to a generation where slaughter and brute force meant power" Dralas moved past, oblivious to his grand gesture and began working his glowing stave over the water in front, Reynald held a long cloak in hand bundled over something, long enough to be nothing else but a long bow – Auriel's bow.

He produced it to them; a glistening and taut bow of the purest silver, overlain with slivers of matchless gold, the string was spun silk and the arrows along with it were glabrous yet sublime, perfection not seen even in the skyforge steel of nordic renown.

"Now follow me! And let's slay these beasts" Reynald turned and marched at that, followed across the ice by the entire force who walked as if nothing was amiss.

Serana couldn't help but feel supreme at that moment, eager as she marched in unison with free people to slay a man who'd tormented her life for years, others for thousands without the respite, in front was her home and one time sanctuary from the sort of beings around her, and she was going to help crumble it to the ground.

_Durnehviir _certainly did his job in helping however, and she wondered just how hot dragonfire ran, the barbican was melting by the time they had managed to settle their ranks and march.

It wasn't completely down however until Reynald approached it; shouting "_**Fo Krah Diin**_" ice erupted from him in a torrent, freezing the metal already melted and leaving it to groan and protest, a moment later and his familiar; most well known ability screeched into the gate "_**Fus Do Rah**_" snapping all the metal and shattering the heavy doors themselves, Reynald waited a moment to let the way settled before shouting where heard upon the other side and bodies emerged.

Thralls; well maintained ones by their sharp dress and thick plate armour, guards of the castle Serana knew them as, perhaps ten in all, coming forward with pronged spears and maces.

Isran pivotally at the front of the line lifted up that weapon of his – a short and stocky weapon with a thick bulge atop, all wooden and fired it.

The effect was brutal; the _rap-rap-rap-rap_ in reality bolts being fired repeatedly, running across the oncoming guards and piercing their thick armour, five fell before they could even touch Reynald while the rest fell victim to a devastating destruction spell that cooked them in their own armour, courtesy of Dralas who had came with them.

"I told the arch-mage I would return with all those I brought with me, I'll make these bastards pay for making me look like a fool" he explained harshly, sleeves rolled up and hood down, exposing his vicious face "You first then" Reynald offered in return, and smugly the dunmeri went forward into the smoke ridden hole, the rest followed after a long moment.

Inside they found nothing amiss to what any of them expected; that is to say that they expected a bloody fight and found themselves facing nothing, an empty entryway devoid of any thralls of vampires, "Even all the gargoyles are gone" Serana noted, seeing that every piece of 'stonework' had been broken, wary of a trap they advanced into the main dining hall.

Inside way a nightmare of blood and gore, bodies stacked like crates atop each other in some dark fantasy of a sacrifice, every thrall and 'cattle' had seemingly been slain perhaps in aid of their strength, the floors sopped with crimson, the tables had hulks of limbs upon them.

"By the divines, what barbarism" one of the nords, a bear backed warrior said as they pushed through the carnage, down the stairs unto the soaked bottom steps, "There. That one isn't a mortal." Dralas pointed to a body still struggling behind the far table, gulping for air as they came up and surrounded it, the armour of house Volkinar was upon him.

"What's your name" he was asked by Serana; hoping that perhaps he would relate to her, but he only laughed with a maw filled with black blood, his eyes were fierce even in his dying throws "Ah, the daughter of our great lord Harkon, come to finish the job you and this – mortal have started?" he gave Reynald a deathly look, but he wasn't in the mood.

Taking his blade he pierced the man's already ruptured shoulder with it, eliciting a sagging hiss, "Where is Harkon? Where are all the other vampires?" his blade pressed further and the man howled, a retched looking nord who had long been deprived of life, Reynald would be doing him a favour, "Gone…there all gone. They left when Harkon returned. When he told them Hesta, Modhna, all of those that accompanied him had been slain they lost their nerve…or saw their chance. Vingalmo stole the chalice and gutted me; the elvish bastard. Orthjolf stole away after him…left me to die" the words were bitter and full of rage, he looked dismayed if a vampire truly could.

"What is the chalice…where would Vingalmo go? Where is Harkon. Tell us beast and we'll end you quickly" Isran growled at him, getting down on his haunches beside Reynald and producing a hand sized sickle in hand, "tell me now and swiftly; or I'll make your end one to forget."

He was eager to die it seemed, as he gave up all knowledge freely "the bloodstone chalice, it can be used in a place called redwater den, Vingalmo will go there…and the rest will follow him. Harkon is in his chamber, marshalling all the power of Molag Bol." Isran looked to Serana to see the truth, she nodded and he used his sickle, ripping through the throat of the man so brutally that he had to avert her eyes.

"That's what you call quick?" she accused, to which Isran simply shrugged, "Quicker than all those corpses received" he replied, none of them looked about to argue, "Let's just get this over with" she walked up into the forefront of the chamber, towards the cathedral where they had sacrified all they had so many years ago.

A gate was enforced upon it; but by some effort it was forced away, "We don't need everyone here, I can't see this room being wide enough for us all to battle, and we don't know truly if all the vampires are gone" Reynald started before they attempted to enter, Serana felt so _alive _and energized beside him, "Isran; Aela, Lathar, Milisi and Dralas, all of you come with me. The rest of you separate into two parties, take either wing of the castle and purge it." No one disobeyed the orders, perhaps those accompanying the leaders didn't want to face Harkon himself, save those dawnguard members who looked mildly perturbed, "I'm coming as well" Serana insisted, "Of course." She was told with what could have been a reassuring smile, if the tension wasn't so thick.

Lathar took up the head as they moved bullishly, "I'm taking the lead, I've seen this golt fight. He casts spells stronger than most battlemages would hope too; he can disappear and strike where you least expect, Milisi and – you mage…Dralas, focus on shielding us all, restoration and wards. Dragonborn you have the bow, those sunhallowed arrows of yours are meant to be blessed, use them." Serana grabbed his bronzed sleeve as he went forward, "what about me?" she asked hotly, "You. You just make sure you fight your hard as you can, I'm not expecting you to gut your own father." Oddly touching, she let the man go forward, following in the last as Lathar snapped the chamber door with a busting kick.

"Oh great vampire lord! Who flees like a doe in her skirts, Lathar Mathias has come to give you your death!" the man was absolutely fearless, didn't flinch at all when he caught sight of the blood sopped shrine with it's horrible pincher maw.

None of them did; not one marched into the room with anything less than grim determination in their eyes and weapons in their hands, Serana couldn't help but push through to the forefront, Harkon looked upon them with rage that made his bones quiver.

"So this is it my daughter…you've fallen in with this lot of meat sacks, low vermin you should feast on rather than _befriend_?" his words were poison, he wasn't capable of love anymore, he'd had that stolen by the prophecy, "I'm here to destroy you, I'm here to end all the pain you've caused – all the pain you want to cause." She was, she didn't even feel anger or pain anymore, just the finality that he had to die, "I'm sorry you allowed yourself to be caught up in the prophecy, I'm sorry you lost your father."

She could have cursed or attacked him to cause less pain; and he roared with fury so visible the raw frothing crimson power of the shrine began to envelop him, "Sorry for me! Sorry? Who are you to be sorry for me! I AM THE LORD OF THE NIGHT!" he was maniacal, enraged beyond coherence, Milisi threw up the promised shielding which covered them all in a sheen of sea blue, Reynald notched an arrow and loosed it, Lathar and Aela charged, Dralas tore at him with a jet of streaming lighting, Harkon was struck by it and knocked into his own shrine.

His skin welted and blackened; the arrow missed yet his pain roared out from his throat, Serana thought for a moment that he was already dead, only for him to release himself by way of teleportation, a haze of bats and mist threw themselves about the room to release themselves from Dralas's severe casting, all of them remained alert.

He came to one of the two high arches on either side of the room, cramped and clogged with bones and rusted metals, Serana thought he would summon bonewalkers in desperation but the reality was worse, he'd been communing with Molag Bol it seemed, who granted the use of his most terrible footsoldiers.

Harkon threw his hand out and the warp of conjuration was all around them; six perhaps, coated in daedric armour so dense it appeared lightless, coating their chests and arms, thighs and feet. Their faces were death masks; hollow and completely without features save for triple piercing horns on either side of colourless eye slits, all wielded heavy maces and a spiked glove on their oft hand, they were the Armanzi – fierce; unforgiving, slayers of the master of cold harbour.

They fought in the dozens yet could kill the hundreds; peerless save for their daedric brothers of the deadlands and the realms of madness.

Ordinarily.

When one faced Lathar however the redguard twisted under himself like an Akaviri; deflecting it's weapon with his halberd end before pulling it's feet from under it, another attempted to clout him from behind but met his halberd instead, as if it weighed one darr rather than twenty Lathar curled and spun the weapon, knocking the mace back before he punched it cleanly – entirely through the chest of the Armanzi guard.

Another made for Reynald only to be caught firmly by his dragonsword, Dralas on having one heave it's mace rolled nimbly under the weapon cloak and all, before coming up and placing a blindingly bright hand upon the warrior's arm, Dralas laughed as it crumpled and groaned into nothingness, Harkon raged and went at them again as Aela and Isran were forced into a slugging match in the far corner.

"Come on Harkon! Meet your doom!" Lathar howled as her father went at him; wider and snarling with a mouth filled with blood and gore, they grappled halberd against talons while Reynald forced his armanzi opponent towards the alter, Dralas and Milisi towards the stairwell intersected another two of the black clad daedra.

Serana saw her father turn his attention fully on the never seen before retreating Lathar; his weapon rendered useless in Harkon's rasping grip, she sprung forward and with her blade in hand leapt at him, swiftly and truly, forcing the curved head of her weapon deep into where a normal man's organs would have been.

Her blade dug deep and illicted a fierce howl from her father; Lathar on the opportunity threw himself back a touch before unleashing a jagged blade from the sleeve of his bronzed wrist protector, it opened a horrible slash across her father's throat and she thought it near ended him.

He was nigh unstoppable it seemed; fueld by his rage and Molag Bol's blessing, an explosion of crimson the darkest shade of red enveloped him and threw Lathar and her back, him into the wall and her against the steps, Harkon could actually be so bold as to dismiss the redguard and turn on her, causing her an almost feel that familiar pang of fear, "How can your weapons pierce the flesh of a night lord daughter?" he was mocking her even as the envoy's of Molag Bol and her allies fought around him, as Lathar came up to rise and tackle him again.

He was fearless; aware of the danger but heedless of it, Lathar got within reach before Harkon reacted, vanishing into a plume of snarling vermin leaving the redguard's weapon to sail harmlessly through the vacated space, Harkon appeared a moment later behind him and swiped at his back cruelly, his talons couldn't but manage to tear through the bronze armour Lathar protected himself with.

It wasn't deep enough to have him fall but Harkon was far more insidious than that; his claw allowing him to _drain _the very life force of Lathar, Serana acted and launched herself over the redguard in a arching flip that brought her down behind her father, but instead of attacking she ducked under a blow she knew to be coming before driving her back upwards across his chest and face, making him howl and charge forward to bowel her over.

All his mass meant he knocked her over with considerable ease; onto her back and at his mercy as lathar sagged behind and the two mages grappled with the daedric warriors, she couldn't fathom where Aela had been or Reynald, while Harkon loomed over her with his hand raised to strike.

She couldn't think to pull her sword up or strangle him; drain his own life or shield herself with her hands, his face was too gruesome and rage filled to resist, his hand came down and plunged through her stomach, deep and unrelenting.

At first it was pure pain; lancing through every part of her until she couldn't move for fear of eliciting anymore, she couldn't even cry out as her body attempted to numb the pain, her father's sneer was her whole world, cruel and unyielding.

She was going to die; in pain and ingloriously, the daughter of a horrible bastard of a vampire lord who terrorized Skyrim and slaughtered an entire town on some fantastical thought of immortality, no one would remember her as anything more, perhaps Reynald would have a softer recollection of her.

The thought of the man led her to warmer thoughts that should have been possible; and even if she couldn't relate what was around her, she was there to be saved or slaughtered by it, Harkon wouldn't have his wish, he wouldn't have his daughters life, not if the sun kissed elvin arrows of Reynald were anything to demand things.

She saw Harkon rear in pain as the first one struck his shoulder; flail back as another pierced his chest in the spot she had wounded him already, another scored him in the jaw before he could finally recover, Serana looked over her head with all the pain it entailed at a dragonborn standing erect with Auriel's bow pulled taut against his shoulder.

Blood beaten and sullied he still looked as a mountain cat would; blue eyes shining and his mouth twisted into a grim smile, he notched another arrow and Harkon roared at him, bursting forward in his coward's form to revitalize himself at his alter.

"_**Fus Do Rah!"**_ Reynald shouted however; forcing him back and near against her as he became whole again, bloody himself and scored with wounds, Lathar and Dralas skulked around wounded but alert, Aela and Milisi now lay behind Harkon while Isran came to side by Reynald, his creative new weapon in hand.

His minions looked to be destroyed or banished; but he could still conjure more, opened up with wide gouges and piercing wounds that snaked across his chest, all the way to his face that was distorted with all sorts of the gore expected of so many injuries.

"You think to use the bow against me…I wonder if you would be willing to do so will my claws so close to my daughter, do you not hold her dear?" Harkon's wager was obvious of course, as his talons flexed on the side of where she lay, his eyes boring into her with a brutal smile coating his twisted visage of power.

Reynald didn't unnotch his arrow but rather relaxed his arm if only slightly, knowing that Harkon couldn't be stopped from finishing the brutal business he'd started with her, "More dearly than you do apparently, but what does it matter? Will you stay your hand?" Harkon laughed Reynald played the hesitant, even with all the pieces, she'd be touched if her hands weren't fist deep in her own blood and guts, "Have your friends leave…I'll give you my daughter" An exchange not worth it for any sane eyes, "and you expect me to what…walk out of here and leave you to your castle?" Reynald asked, his weapon still not wavering.

Harkon even in all his injury was not yet devoid of his insidious way of charm; or lack thereof, "If you wish to go; if you wish to save my daughter…or perhaps you wish to stay, to fight me without all your assembly? To choose who is worthy of the bow – great hero?" Reynald nodded simply; smugly, and dropped his aim and looked to his friends, who remarkably didn't protest or argue even in the slightest, Serana strangely saw Milisi at one of the sides of the uprising platforms charge a spell of some sort, but with that most of them filed out, Isran skirted around with a fierce glare on his face.

"Take Serana out of here Isran" Reynald commanded him; with a solid stare to his eyes that belied something Harkon couldn't know, but Isran did his task as commanded, one hand to her shoulder with another resting on his weapon.

He got to the door; Serana hissed in pain as she was slodded up the steps, she could see Reynald as she was carted away, just as the dawnguard leader got her near the door, "Isran! Shoot him now!" Reynald suddenly turned and brought up the great bow again, loosing an arrow that caught Harkon again in the chest, but it wasn't enough, Harkon turned to loose a great burst of destruction upon the door.

"_**Wuld!" **_went the thu'um of Reynald however, spiriting him across the room in a burst quick enough to deliver him before Haron could unleash his attack, Serana saw Reynald the moment before his blade forced itself up through Harkon's back, she saw her father as he realised he'd been so grievously attacked, her leapt near burst as Harkon blew Reynald back with an eruption of dark particles around him.

He went skidding across the floor without his back; it snapped as Harkon's dark emulation enveloped him, both sides clanged as they hit the ground, Isran's weapon caught Harkon perhaps seven times and did nothing to prevent his advance on Reynald, his body was shaking with fury.

Out of the corner of her eye a figure appeared in a hue of sea green energy; beautifully armoured in a silver sheen of mithril and riveted emerald, over the short drop she went, Milisi the mysterious dunmeri went forward and charged a spell to her hands.

It brought forward an impeccably deadly; impossibly lethal spear of that darkest and lightless daedric design, with only an unnatural blood red hue to it, such an ironic weapon to impale a vampire lord with, and she did so – with such perfect grace that Harkon was pierced through his chest out off his right shoulder, she never thought she'd have seen her father pierced like a common slaughterfish.

He was disabled but not done; Serana even as she weakened couldn't turn away as she watched Reynald rose up, his quiver of arrows sprawled out and the bow of Auriel thrown away on the floor, he picked both up and approached Harkon, sagging as whatever dark power coursed through and weakened him, "All must die save the gods and princes Harkon…and you are neither" Reynald said the words with something like rage and sadness in his voice, he gave her a moment of his embroiled eyes before he notched an arrow and drew back the bow.

Harkon's mouth poured with blood as he attempted to roar, pitiful and comtemptful, slain perhaps not by his enemies usefulness but by his own sorts cowardice, the arrow loosed and imbedded itself in his eye, his body sagged and finally dropped, Reynald followed him down to a knee.

Then Harkon was gone; removed to a sad sidenote on the history of Skyrim, his body devolving into a puddle of black blood that smoked against the tiles under it, she felt hands on her body as she began to lose herself to death, they were Isran's – all cold and light.

"Hang on bloodsucker…I have killed many of your kind…you'll be the first I'll save" the words didn't comfort her; she'd think he would do as much as her father would to save her, but she didn't feel herself fade into the realm of Molag Bol, as a traitor for all the eternities.

She felt weightless as she was lifted; floating out of the castle on the shoulders of others, her stomach was still fragile and open but she couldn't feel the pain any longer.

Time passed for how long she didn't know, sleepless and without a touch of darkness, until finally she could free herself of her own mind and pull herself from the reverie.

When she did she found herself in a roofless tower; on an decrepit bed with scant else about her, her stomach pulled and ached but it was nothing now to the grievous wound inflicted by her father, noises came from the outside of the tower, and she steeled herself to rise as she knew many of them.

It didn't happen however; pain shot through her and left her there panting on the bed, irritated and aware she was useless, she forced herself upward through sheer force of will, rising unsteadily and making her way down the rickety steps.

Seeing nothing of interest below she opened up the doorway and saw the bridge of her home; saw the nordic men and redguards passing in front heaving out cartloads of sacks and lockboxes, gold and jewels alike spilled out from one sack or another, Serana recognised those boxes as the ones her father kept his chief remnants of ancient opponents inside.

Another two carts came followed by one of the dawnguard, Skald as it occurred, he saw her and strangely gave her a delightful little bow, "I see your feeling better milady – good to see in a passing few days of tragedies. I hope you don't mind our business here, but Reynald commanded we take all this across the banks" the men pushing stilled to see her reaction, perhaps weary enough to consider her a threat even with her hand across her stomach, "These are my father's ill gotten gains, not mine" she gave them a small coy smile and they nodded happily, Skald continued on after directing her that Reynald was within the castle, Serana struggled on up the long winding bridge.

She reached the shattered gateway; with two dunmeri standing not at attention but certainly as impromptu guards, the doorway itself was shattered and couldn't soon be mended, the bodies of her father's guards had been removed, both mer gave her a stiff nod as she passed.

Therein the first place she found a great many of the dawnguard and the few mages she'd actually caught eye off, discussing something heatedly it seemed, some turned to see her enter and caut off their conversation, Isran finally caught on and gave her his attention.

For once it seemed he wasn't entirely willing to despise her, his face wasn't half as pitiless and scrunched up as usual "So you're up and _alive_…can't say I'm surprised, you're kind always are full of fight" he was growling at her as he did at everyone and that was okay, because maybe it meant he started to see her maybe not as a human but as a person after all, "thank you Isran…for healing me" he gwuaffed at her words but didn't refuse them "The dragonborn always saw something in you, maybe it was something I didn't allow myself to see. Either way it doesn't matter; you've done enough good for me to turn my eyes away, just don't make me regret it." Serana nodded at that, asked where Reynald was and moved on, the big and insane imperial Florientus greeted her with the blessing of Arkay as she went.

He was in the dungeons; and she could feel her heart twist as she realised what he'd find, as quick as she could she rushed down through the right flank of the building, into the bowels, ignoring the constant twinges of pain she finally found him, cloaked and turned away from her into the room filled with immunerable pieces of bodies numbering in the hundreds here alone, thousands below.

She didn't speak for a little while; instead watching as he sifted through some bones with his boot, sometimes sighing and other times cursing, it looked so disgusting as Serana knew what eyes he would see it through.

"You're breathing is laboured" he said to her then out of the blue; surprising herself as he turned, his hands were wrapped in the folds of his cloak like a serene old monk, "You have ears like a gargoyle" she replied slightly unease still even if his words were light, "this place…this place is monstrous" she told him a moment later, he gave her a long nod accompanied by a deflated sigh.

"It is horrible; to think that so many perished here in the view of being nothing more than torture victims and feedbags, your father and his court were a nightmare" he made for the stairs, but instead of ascending right up offered Serana a hand, she took it and made her way up with him.

She didn't know what to say to him; hadn't thought about her father being gone either, perhaps because he'd been gone so many countless years ago, but Reynald was right here.

He seemed without an idea either; the pair of them marching out of the horrifying places side by side, "Let's go outside" he said to her after a moment, she'd feel good for the air.

She noted how the castle seemed so much more peaceful even with all the soldiers around, no tension remained in the air, al the bodies had been removed also as had anything of worth upon the walls. Her fathers sigil and standards had been torn down and thrown away, his many 'prizes' laid to rest or thrown into the sea she supposed, they were taking everything her father had ever put into this place – and there wasn't one part of her that was sad to see it.

The air felt good for her as they escaped the castle; Reynald ushered off the dunmeri and went close to the high edge of the bridgeway, he finally sat down and gave her a curious look under a glad smile.

"What?" she confusedly asked, going to sit beside him with some unease, "I'm not allowed to smile?" he replied still happily, looking about him as if he'd never seen a bright morning sun before, "I suppose you are" he laughed and she looked at him with as much crossness as she could muster, "What's wrong with you? Weren't you just gloomy a moment ago?" he shrugged.

"I don't care. Not about all those poor souls, not right now. This day is too good; and things have finished too well. I know your father finally had to die; but if I was honest I'd say this is the best day Skyrim has seen since Alduin was slain" It was a horrible admission to anyone but her, because she didn't hold any idea of familial love or bondship anymore, she looked and Reynald and yet again with something beyond bravery placed her hand atop his.

"It's okay…I'm done with my father and whatever he became, now all I care about is getting a life beyond this place, far away from all this death and destruction" She could have imagined it but she truly did believe Reynald squeezed her hand back, she looked at him and saw he had his eyes on her for a full and long moment, where he couldn't have taken anything in – before he diverted his gaze to the ruined castle just beside them.

The silence was golden and unwanted all in the same, she wished he'd say something to her that gave away his intentions, what he would do if he seemed to be steering away from war, but he did; and it pained her to hear "In the next few days I'll be leaving for the south, I'm going to settle Ulfric and these imperials out once and for all, on the back of a dragon so they know I'm serious. After that well I can't say, perhaps it's time I finally march with him into the imperial heartlands – use him as a decoy and have my forces in High Rock rush through the north western passages. I could have Chorrol in a few days if I caught them unawares–

Serana grabbed his face; tight in her strong enough grip even without her claws and attacked him, or perhaps _attacked_ wouldn't have been the right word, considering how he took it.

That was to say she kissed him; awkwardly and without any prior knowledge of how someone went about the act, she started off by pressing her lips against his, before his lips parted and he replied with his tongue meeting hers. If he was keen to throw her over the edge he didn't show it; grabbing her gently around her injured stomach, before he realised and put his hand upon her hip, Serana almost forget where she was, pulling at his collar with so much fire in her fist that she near tore his tattered shirt apart, her teeth bit into his lip in a slightly frenzy.

He laughed through the kiss and she finally pulled back; looking at him quietly to see if he'd offer up any protest, "I'm glad you didn't bite me properly" he said with a flushed face, looking less a conqueror and more a keen stableboy, wary of where they were and who was around them Reynald caught her again with another kiss, interrupted by his irrepressible grin, Serana wanted to pull him over the side just to get them closer but he again pulled away again after a moment.

"Afraid of your friends thinking you're a vampire lover?" she teased him with only a slight worry behind it, but she quashed it by grabbing her hand and holding it firmly, across his own lap, "I'm already known as a vampire conspirator in these parts, I might as well have a reason for it" She laughed; loving that his whole ragged look was gone, his spirits were up, he was as happy as she'd ever seen him, it made a difference of being surrounded by all these brooding and dangerous people.

She still wondered in the back of her mind however; would he ever leave his call for battle behind, would he become a lord of a 'great' nation carved out over the bodies of thousands or finally put down his sword when his duty was finished. "I don't suppose you're willing to give up your quest for justice and revenge…maybe come along with me to the five peaks? Do a tower of Skyrim's mead houses?" she asked him lightly but she still felt a pang of sadness, she knew he would say no, what else could he say?

"If I could forget about all this I would; I think, I don't know if I could ever retire and live like some retired swordsman." He was honest at least, cruelly open to her, but he wouldn't just leave her like that, "But that's not to say I'll not have time for whatever this is, the empire is weak and ready to fall in on itself, I don't think my next advance will take half as long as it did for me to settle Skyrim."

"I'm sure your allies will positively love to see you have your faithful vampire friend along…or would I be your consort…maybe aide? You could say I was a prisoner" it was uncalled for and petty but she couldn't help it, she was sick of being on the periphery of society, "look – I know you have to deal with all the bile and hate from nords, but you must know that there a secular people; there like that with elves and the redguards for the most too. I don't know what I can say other than I won't let anyone on my command harm you, you've given more than any of us to stop this threat."

He was right; and none of them would give her an inch so long as her eyes lit up in the unnatural hue, or that her teeth could produce fangs more akin to a mountain cat than nordic girl, who couldn't mind the entire 'drinking of people's lifeforce' either, she needed to either excuse herself from the world or embrace their terms, she didn't want to hide anymore.

She couldn't tell him before they were interrupted however; and true to his word Reynald's grip did not falter on hers, "Pardon me dragonborn…but I have an urgent dispatch from jarl Elisif" the man was not one of those who had fought in the battle, his feet were still snow soaked and his dress was free of any blood or sighs of injury, he was young as well being no older than twenty winters perhaps.

Reynald got up and left her; taking the note in hand, there was no official writ on the piece of paper and the man was no official messenger, his face scrutinized every word as if searching out every letter for truth, he dropped it and near dashed it on the ground after what seemed to be an endless time reading it.

He was back to being furious, back to being that man she knew him as, a tragic general not allowed to live, or losing the capability of it even, "Tell the jarl I got the message and I'll deal with the issue soon, my thanks." He didn't have anything to give the man so he sent him away, gnawing at his cheek as he left, "What is it?" she asked nervously, god knows what this meant now.

It wasn't her father of the vampires however, it was the king yet again, "Ulfric has somehow managed to capture jarl Balgruuf; an old friend of mine, one I betrayed on behalf of this _detestable_…racist dog – what was I thinking? He means to execute him, to settle accounts against any moderates perhaps."

"What are you going to do?" she already knew he would do something; but he looked angry, so angry that his hands clenched near involuntarily, his teeth grinded, "I'm going to talk him out of it…I'm going to present him with a compromise…and if he doesn't take it I'm going to kill him."

Everything kicked on then; he left her for a long time, long enough it seemed to sort out his business with Isran and Milisi inside the castle, when he returned they were talking on the finer points of what exactly he'd be expecting from them, Aela and Lathar joined them then.

Isran was settled; having taken some recompensation for his losses and having dealt with the remains of those slain in the battle, "All of you helped deal a death blow against a great threat, I count you all as friends of the dawnguard. We will continue what we have all started and near on finished, thank you." He gave them all a firm nod and then was gone; marching away with his lamellar clad fellows, Lathar followed next having settled some jewels and gold for his men to take home with them, he was equally as tight lipped and left with little or no ceremony.

It left Milisi and the mages along with the nords; who together would help sanctify castle Volkinar before returning to their homes, "The nordic captains will deliver the remnants of the castles treasury to Dawnstar; Milisi will help along with the mages to settle any poor souls who have been unsettled in the place, after that you can all leave and never look on the castle again."

"And what will you do?" Aela asked, not associated to any of them it seemed and not willing to leave Reynald to his own it seemed, Serana would have been the same only for the pain roaring through her stomach, "I'm going south with Durnehviir, fast and quick, Ulfric needs brought into reins before he executes the only man capable of giving opposition to him."

"Apart from you of course" Aela reminded him, "And you think you don't need people you can trust there?" Reynald brushed her aside "Dragons can do more than any amount of warriors can; I won't be starting a battle, keep your mind at rest harbinger." That was him then, off to fight another battle, "Aela get the hall back into order; settle accounts and marshal what warriors you can, and then meet me where Ulfric's laid his camp." She agreed and set off, better to work with than argue against him she supposed the women knew.

He said the same to Milisi only with the altercation that they meet some ways east in some shorn watchtower or the other, he'd send word for her apparently, but he mercifully left Serana with a more personal touch, "I'll need to summon Durnehviir nearer the seashore, we can walk and talk?" She happily – though neutrally for the rest agreed.

As they walked Reynald brooded; he didn't even look to her for advice but rather threw his cloak around him and went listless, she didn't fell there was time enough for everything she'd wanted to say to him, but as was true with him as ever he always kept good people close.

"This is detestable; that I should have to go and save one nords life from the hands of another, who's meant to be the correct judge of a whole nation. I once thought that Ulfric and me could live under the same sky, but those days are long past" despite his words he looked grief stricken, appalled at the thought of it, but he was as ever the disciplined soldier, he wouldn't have an 'innocent' life and that of his friend go to waste. "I need to go south and you can't come with me, but when this is settled I don't want you to fly away to some corner of the map. Work to sort out your family home; regain your mother, I'm sure Milisi would be glad of the chance to explore the soul cairns. Do all that and find relief with the mages college, I'll be able to contact you."

He was grasping slightly but she accepted it, stopping him with an upraised hand, "It's fine, I know you're a busy dragonborn…just don't do anything to undo everything you've accomplished so far. You're not some cold hearted bastard lord and you're not stupid either, you can outsmart a few ice headed nords." He smiled and gave her a mock bow, turned away and summoned that big fleshy dragon of his, mounted it like an unbroken horse would take a rider, "I'll see you again milady, just try not to undo all that good work you've done."

She didn't plan to upset any of these frost headed nords or even the milder dunmeri, nor the hasty redguards or insane imperials, she only wished to undo one key piece that had helped resist every move she made towards a life, and it started by settling her family once and for all.


	22. The First is Last Last First

First draft so probadly horrific, apologies.

* * *

><p>Dragons were a puzzling sort; utterly brutal in some respects and sage counsellors in the other, prideful and dutiful all in the same breath, a myriad of contradictions that he failed to understand at all points.<p>

Women to him were very much the same, only multiplied by the different reckonings of their livelihoods and upbringing, from the hardened orc stronghold women who were seasoned warriors yet obliged to be no more than second or third chieftan's wives, to the elvish dunmeri who were scornful of men and other mer alike yet dutiful to the extreme to their deities and gods.

Nordic women were a criss-cross of that he supposed; vampiric women seemed to be the least volatile in his experiences, save for jarls, the jarl he had in question was Elisif of course, standing with him on a rainy ridge overlooking Solitude, graceful and prim, yet suffering the storms simply to deliver a message to him from her own hand.

It wasn't a favourable message, it wasn't ever going to be welcomed or remembered fondly for what it enacted, _Ulfric has captured Balgruuf the greater and means to execute him_ – it was pure folly, the thought that executing one of his former political opponents would somehow cement him as rightful king in the eyes of the more placated imperial nords, "I don't even know what to say about this…this is madness – complete and utter madness" He wasn't being smart or coy, guileful to stroke her evident remaining anger at the man, he at one point had found Ulfric reasonable and just.

_Men of power are capable of acts far beyond the remit of ordinary men _he'd been told, though Reynald hoped he himself was not so interchangeable and callous when it mattered, "What will you do?" she asked him quietly, miserable and soaked through a woefully thin and dour shawl, bright green Skyrim eyes staring up at him, Reynald didn't see the beauty but rather foul sadness.

He knew what he would have to do if Ulfric didn't relent, as painful as the thought was "I'll free Balgruuf, no one man such as him can be held under the assumption of treachery" That wasn't true however; in the lands of kings they could do as they please as long as there power was secure, and not an army in the land remained strong enough to oppose Ulfric.

Which left only one option if reason wasn't being considered by the king, "The old ways are still considered strong. It's what Ulfric has been attempting to build his kingdom upon. If he refuses to accept my request then I'll have only one option" She looked surprised, Falk Firebeard who stood off aside as a trusted aide had good ears and he looked equally astounded, "You'll challenge Ulfric?" Was what she asked, Reynald gave her a curt nod, his stomach washed with the idea of it.

"Men who have no mercy for old foes will soon be surrounded by enemies, who'd rather fight for survival rather than assure themselves of death. It's always been true that a good king pardons twice as much as he does condemn" _Unless they are elves of course, no man pardons an elf _the bile rose again in his throat and he knew that despite the idea of facing down Ulfric being horrible, he couldn't allow the man to kill dunmeri or bosmeri, the cat people or even imperial simply for the sake of their race, not any longer.

He remembered a time when Ulfric spoke words of reason and wit; rather than an overblown caricature of what _nordic power_ truly meant, it was hard to imagine what that truly was, an act for the overreaching breton who had become blessed with the blood of the gods and dragons or words of a man on a search for justice.

"There is something else dragonborn…what I wanted to see you for" Elisif produced a letter from her sleeve, the seal broken on what was a golden starlit sun coming over a horizon of fine indigo "A letter from Skald the younger; jarl of Dawnstar that arrived to me" Reynald took it and ran through the contents under the cloak Elisif had provided, Reynald failed to suppress a smile, the gods never had delivered him much in the way of expenses or glory in the former of his years, but they'd certainly made up for it now as he was overwhelmed with distractions away from it.

"Jarl Skald on being stricken with disease has named me jarl of Dawnstar, to hold the title until better awaits me" It was madness incarnate, the mad god himself couldn't make up this plot, "I'm now a jarl; from a peasant to soldier, soldier to traitor, sellsword to saviour, and now a great offender to a position of nobility." It was a fair stroke of luck; due diligence to what he and his men accomplished in repelling the vampires foothold, "With this and your word of support; given that Windhelm was recently sacked and Markarth is on the brink of siege, Ulfric cannot upset the support of Whiterun – I hope at least. If he kills Balgruuf he'll set a bad taste there given that he's already shamed the companions – the cities crowning glory." Reynald felt the gears of a plan clicking in his head, "This is good news, perhaps it'll avert things" He took the letter and snuck it under his quilted greave, "I'll need to go with this, before anything happens" But Elisif took his hand as he went to move, squeezed it with the genuine affection he could see in her eyes.

"Don't let Ulfric harm anymore good men" she told him; and he knew it would have to be that way, no army or man would dare to stand up to Ulfric it seemed, too many thought that he was a hero or that the ire of the Stormcloaks was too much to bear, "I will save Balgruuf – I swear it" He made himself away onto the plane lands below, slippery rocks and wet wills made his footing uneasy, but he didn't have to worry about marching his way through a ruddy Skyrim however, he only had to shout into the sky before his newest dragon companion descended.

Durnehviir even for a dragon was a swift _mount_; able to take through the storms at a pace frightening to any archers or mages who'd ever attempted to ground him, even through the whipping wind and fearsome onslaught of rain Reynald could see that they crossed distances as easily as a argonian treaded water, hills and mountains dotted with forts and homesteads went by as passing mounds and nothing more as they broke south.

It was a flight in a space of hours that should have been a march of days, Reynald relished the feeling of all the soaking rain even as it caught him across the face, until the storm broke and he was faced with an oncoming night that was testy but relatively calm.

In the distance he could see Dragonsreach upon the mount of Whiterun to his left flank, gripped tighter onto Durnehviir as his grip weakened once again, then on came the final slope of hills that lay before the onset of the Jeralls where Ulfric army lay, the great Ilnalta lake passed easily underneath.

_The future of Skyrim rests within my words or my sword once again_ he realised, knew it would soon be that there would be no turning back, Ulfric could attempt to throw him in a cage just as easy as he would listen to him, their alliance for whatever it was remained on a hairpin.

It didn't matter now; sentries in their rickety towers on the outcropping of his main encampment had already caught sight of Durnehviir, had already rang the drums and pulled their bows, some loosing and futilely missing with their panicked aims, most retreated to safety when they landed abruptly at the forefront of Ulfric's camp.

"Pardon me for awhile Durnehviir, but I must go ahead alone" Reynald threw himself to the ground as he spoke, hoping the dragon would take itself off before any of the men inside could cause too great an offence, whipping up a frenzy of dirt and soiled ground.

Reynald shielded himself as the dragon lifted off; leaving himself vulnerable enough that when he turned he was facing several men in equally miserable wear, with spears and axes digging out from wet soaked hands, "Show yourself or be killed!" one of the men shouted in a testy voice, clearly displeased with his lot on the ill tempered night, tempered by the rapidly ascending shadow all the same "I'm the dragonborn, Reynald Manis." He produced his hands which were nowhere near the broad scabbard at his side, "Show me to your king, we have things to discuss."

The men looked astounded and confused; the one at the head who looked haggard and somewhat of a veteran was unsure for a moment, until a man came from behind him torch in hand to look upon Reynald, "Ah! It is the dragonborn. I saw him at Windhelm once" the man seemed positive enough for the head guard, who gave Reynald another curious look before he turned his weapon aside, others had began to come to the entry of the camp as he went to enter, the guards quickly enveloped him in their 'protection'.

It felt wrong having men cloistered around him, cloaks against his as he was headed through the massing of tents and men. It looked miserly all around, the rain had battered the men and their surroundings, tents where bogged down in the slick mud and some had fallen through where the winds had swept up badly, torch fires struggled to stay lit or where completely diminished, everyman he past was leaning upon their staves or huddling around each other in circles.

How could they not he supposed, for all of Ulfric's veterans being assembled meant men who had been fighting non-stop for more than a year, no time to pull in the harvest or spend times with their families, no time to saviour their freedom or relish being away from the imperial yoke.

It had been too much perhaps to ask them to oppose the empire, not when the imperials would sent their legions to waste themselves in the futile attempt to return Skyrim back into line, had he been so wrong to think that they could settle the strength of Cyrodiil in the battles of wit and guile that had forced Tullius into his retreat? Or was an independent Skyrim still a dream worth having.

He would soon see Ulfric's resolve he knew, as they marching for his larger tent situated at the very core of his camp, "On comes the dragonborn" the lead guard announced to the guards standing at attention, men armoured head to foot in thick mail and faceless 'full guard' masks.

They pulled their spears and allowed them entry; satisfied that Ulfric wasn't at danger upon looking at Reynald and taking his weapon free from his side, if not to mention all the guards behind him, not hesitating he went forward and came into the relative warmth of the room, a thousand questions filled the air.

Ulfric was there in an envelopment of blue soaked cloaks and furs; hard faces and glinting steel off the thick candles hanging from each corner of the expansive tent, it was of course unlike the rest of the camp in good order and stocked with all the amenities of a king or supreme commander, the smell of fruity ale and remnants of a roast were in the air.

It reminded Reynald of his legionary days; coming blood soaked into the camps and reporting to superior officers, men who sat eating crispy bird or roasted venison while he stood at attention at their leisure, it was why he always filled a cup for visitors and kept his place the direnni sort of sparse.

"Ulfric" He greeted evenly, aware that the room had split and stopped as he entered, the king had to turn on him completely to look at Reynald, rain soaked and spoiling the throw upon the floor to ward off the rough ground beneath. "Your pooling water on my floor" Ulfric replied in his baritone voice, but Reynald was drawn immediately to the sour mop of bandages upon the man's left eye.

"You look terrible" the dragonborn observed; his skin was pale and pasty, his eye was added to by numerous other scratches and even stranger indents across his face and hands, "Do your healers not know how to deal with poisons?" he asked, surprised at how invasive the vampiric attack had been, "Not for whatever filthy those beasts have used…though I see you're in good health" Reynald moved forward even at the accusation, ignoring the guards behind who hesitated, stared down the men surrounding the king; Red-Shoal, Frozen-Heart and Cairn-Breaker amongst them, some of the most fervent of his men.

He offered out his hands and showed his face in the clear candlelight, "You look more a beast of the night that I do Ulfric; and for the asking I would have provided you with the necessary help had you asked." Ulfric glared at what was simply open contempt of the king, Reynald was sure he loved the thought of that in his mind – _the king_ _of all Skyrim_ but he did not order his guards to hustle him out, nor did he allow those generals present to vent some frustration he could see writ across their collective faces.

"What help can you offer? I have reports of you consorting with these vile creatures, I have found evidence that implicates you on the attempt on my life! Tell me; what should I think of your help?" the accusation was entirely expected, the grim look on the kings face along with it obvious, but Reynald was far too tired to deal with his delusions. "One or two of those creatures helped me destroy the rest of them its true; but what man doesn't take a hand to destroy his enemies even when they have claws at the end? And as for accusations of an attempt upon your life, well I wouldn't have thought it would be such a good idea considering I helped you win your throne! Perhaps you should have considered the facts before you accused me" Ulfric was ready to spring on him, looking like an injured mountain cat braying at a wary hunter.

He looked tired as well; sagged and thin against all his many other wounds, unable for a fight but not ready to back down "You could not expect me to sit idly by while you consorted with vampires-

"Enough about the vampires; enough about all this talk of betrayal" Red-Shoal's hand went to his hip as Reynald shut off Ulfric, "Who are you to dare to cut off my king!" he threatened with his hilt grasped, but the only breton in the room wasn't impressed "Anytime you wish to try and cut me off Kottir you can attempt it, but remember – you already owe your life to me" Reynald stared the man down until his gaze broke, but Ulfric remained.

"Tell me then, why shouldn't I care about a threat across the entirety of my homelands?" and Reynald did so, from the reversal at Dawnstar; how he was contacted by a _mysterious benefactor –_ but not mentioning it was in fact an assassin, or _thee_ assassin, onto Windhelm and the occurrence of the redguards and dunmeri. He could of course only skim over the details of the emergence of a prophecy in the elder scrolls; the moth priest and the covenant with the mages of Winterhold to oppose them.

The news of the falmer invasion and subsequent destruction; on the basis of help from the former dragon threat up to their assault on the Volkinar keep, meant that Ulfric and his men were suitably muted when he'd finished.

"So it's done then? All these blood suckers are destroyed?" Cairn-Breaker asked to head off all the confusion, some relief forcing its way through his coarse voice, Reynald had always found him to be more deadly in his mind than Ulfric's other commanders, highlighted by his vanguard actions in the assault on Haafingar, "There castle is taken, their lord is slain. What remains are scampering about in the shadows. I'd be confident that Isran and his dawnguard will see to them."

Like that it was over about the vampires and their threat; Ulfric and his men seemed relieved to Reynald's word, accepting it without whatever suspicion had led the man to send out a writ for his arrest. It added credence to the fact that perhaps it was political rather than any real concern, showing up unannounced camp side and in good health.

He didn't come to speak on the vampires; they were better left forgotten, "Where is Balgruuf?" he asked simply, causing Cairn-Breaker to tell him gladly "In the stockades, awaiting the morning for his date with the headsman axe" Ulfric didn't look at him directly, he'd taken himself behind the desk they stood around to sit, Reynald was uncompromising in his gaze to the king "Why is he being beheaded?" he asked again, Cairn-Breaker fixed him with an irate glare.

"Traitors are rightly beheaded for their crimes" he advised, "and what crimes did Balgruuf; former jarl and so entitled lesser king of Whiterun commit?" the man's eyes burned even as they were wavy blue, "What of you king Ulfric? Are you to commit an honourable and by all estimations great; peace loving nord to death, for fighting for his rights to retake his own home? Can you not make peace?" He couldn't it seemed, Ulfric rounded his own stormy eyes on Reynald for what looked to be just short of an actual blow to the face "Who are you to speak to me of Balgruuf, a man who betrayed his own people by siding with those imperial dogs. He'll be sacrificed before the standard to set the tone for any nord who thinks to turn traitor, then I'll finally destroy these legions who plague my borders." _My borders_, Ulfric's standard, men either stood with him or died by the headsman axe, did he even bother mentioning the help Lathar or Milisi had given him in defence against the vampires? That would that leave him under the veil of suspicion again.

This king wasn't the man ready to lead the shout of liberation from the empire, he just wanted to annihilate it so that he could enforce his own perverted sense of what 'the nordic way of life was', "I want to see Balgruuf before he is dealt the blow, now if I can" he requested voice thight, Ulfric took no notice of whatever threat he could offer without any reasonable force, he was secure with his massing of soldiers around him.

"By all means dragonborn, but remember to warn him what occurs when people betray their people." Ulfric dismissed him; his men had turned away to discuss their own matters, Reynald turned and ordered the guards who'd left to be outside to show him to the stockades.

When they left him there he was disgusted by the sight of them, an ugly massing of thick lumber discoloured and eroded by what had to be thick rains and unruly storms, the smell from them even in the drizzle was perverse to his nose, "Show me to Balgruuf" he asked the lictor on duty, the guards remained while the half drowned man shuffled himself over to the last cell upon the thickets flank, inside was detestable and fiercely pungent.

Balgruuf was there, in the corner of the pitch black room obvious to the world, no torch was provided leaving Reynald to cast a ball of illumination that rose across his face, highlighting his own surely grim look to the man's gloomy features.

He awoke after a moment and Reynald shooed away the lector; going as far as to shut the doorway behind him, "You look terrible my jarl" he jested poorly as Balgruuf fully awoke, his face didn't improve as he squared his eyes on Reynald.

"Ah! Ulfric's faithful attack dog, have you came to gloat at your former confidant? Eager to stick the knife in perhaps" his words were scathing but weak, he looked as if he hadn't been fed since he'd been captured, Reynald didn't mind, not anymore, he'd been right. Reynald had already thrown his lot in with a butcher as a king; and Balgruuf was a man too good for this sort of age.

"I came here to talk to you. Not to gloat or harm you, I came to work out a deal with you Balgruuf." He didn't have time for all this nonsense, didn't care to think on it anymore, "Ulfric cannot remain as king in Skyrim, he plans to annihilate the legions and have your head. I thought he would stop and secure his borders; that he'd be as reasonable as he was convicted off the evil of the Thalmor, but in reality he is a man convinced off the wrongness in everything that is not his own thoughts." Balgruuf peaked up, suspicious into silence, exactly what Reynald needed, a captive audience for his last hurrah.

The plan he'd thought off; being thinking off since he'd seen Ulfric, was something that Balgruuf could not deny, a thing that saved him from the headsman's block and left the country he loved into the hands of a man more suited for an uneasy peace than the most brutal war.

It was what Reynald reflected that he knew now entirely; that Skyrim could only resist the Aldmeri dominion if they stood side by side with the empire, but not under it, allowing their plump coffers and ample farmlands to wade south to prop up the corrupt mede dynasty that had failed it's people.

"Agree to this covenant with me Balgruuf and I will allow you the chance to deliver Skyrim from the imperials and stormcloaks alike" was his pleading words, covered by his most passionate stare, that same one he levelled the day he asked for the jarls surrender in his own throne room.

"I will give you my word if you give me yours, you will never ask me to fight a foreign war on the interests of men south of the Jeralls." He agreed wholeheartedly, gone were the days of the homelands of other men providing for those who once held the power to enforce their wills but no longer, Reynald left him and went to an uneasy sleep, the morning beckoned like that dewy summer's morning that he'd ridden off to follow Alduin.

Awakened by the flocking of birds he awoke in a start; convinced that they'd been assembling to pull the flesh from Balgruuf's open neck, his clothes filthy and his hair unkempt Reynald rose and broke through the camp, his near tarnished document of entitlement up his sleeve and his blade returned across his hip.

It was a fine morning for the sun, better than any these men had seen he wagered in days, as they trudged through the water logged camp grounds, all of them were going to assemble further towards the eastern passes than Reynald had previously seen, great stocks of munitions' and thrown together stables surrounded a brief patch of featureless ground, save for an all too familiar block resting at the centre.

There he found Balgruuf tussling in his irons, a man either side looking queer at the thought of delivering the blow, _cretins_ he mouthed as he waded through the amassing gathering of men, Reynald knew only the faces that surrounded Ulfric directly facing Balgruuf some few lengths away.

The king was pronouncing the sentence, _death by the sword_ – proudly, as if a man should be so lucky, Reynald's composure went with any hardness he felt in his heart for what he was about to do, "So this is what remains of Skyrim's brave men eh? A bunch of squawkers festering around a brave corpse" Reynald pushed through the ranks and drew his sword wicked _tear _against its scabbard. His ire was up and he let them all see it, "Look upon the man who went to Sovngarde himself, who slew Alduin! The world eater! And tell him why a good nord has to die? Have any of you a sense of goodness left in you, or have you all became rotten and heartless as those bastards of Alinor!?" the world didn't quake as it did when he spoke in his dragon tongue, but men caught their grins and quieted as if struck, Reynald turned to them all, questioning with his gaze, until finally it centred upon Ulfric.

"Do you – king of Skyrim, jarl of the hallowed halls of Windhelm accuse this man of treachery when you too stood so firmly in your beliefs as to risk your own imprisonment and death? Can you not take this man in hand as your brother, to show that all nords stormcloak and those opposed that Skyrim is a land of tolerance and justice" Reynald's words were pleading but his voice was firm; unwavering, Ulfric's jaw was set and his mind focused even within his tattered skin, "I call this man traitor, and he'll die as just that" It seemed settled, the men began to hustle Balgruuf forward like a common criminal, the same way Reynald had entered this great land. He was about to witness the slaughter of a man who'd helped more than the sentence giver to rid them off the threat of Alduin.

His blood pumped and his lifted his sword firmly, out came the razor like blade off his namesake to bear, _the Dragonblade_ – he aimed it squarely for Ulfric, no one dared move, "I say this man is a true son of Skyrim, a loyal subject to the people he has served faithfully for so many years, who asked for nothing but peace" Ulfric looked all the snarling wolf his standard, teeth bared at the sight of the weapon, Reynald's arm held the blade without an inch of wavering, his voice was as lethal as his blade "If you name him traitor; then I challenge you – Ulfric Stormcloak, high king of Skyrim"

"You dare challenge me, After all the faith between us? Are you so low dragonborn" Ulfric taunted, did he truly think he'd win a confrontation in direct combat? Reynald cared not a little "I call you – Ulfric Stormcloak, a false high king, unworthy of the title, unworthy defender of the nordic people and the lands of Skyrim! I call you now to a challenge in the old ways, by sword and stone, by the way of blood and sweat! Face me if you are a true nord, or go scamper away to the home you couldn't protect." The ring of men erupted in an uproar, some men exploded in disbelief while others threatened their swords on Reynald, finally he relented with his blade but did not place it within his sheath, instead he drove his blade forward into the muck and grime, Ulfric was already shuffling out of his long draped cloak, the blood inside Reynald's veins near escaped him.

His plan wasn't complete however until Cairn-Breaker moved forward and attempted to quiet the sally, "Wait! Wait a moment dragonborn. You cannot expect the high king to fight you now, we all know your reputation; second to none in the ways of the sword like our own king" the men rumbled again, Ulfric had discarded his heavier clothes and was standing only in some thin bronzed mail and accompanying underclothes, he had suffered rightly it seemed, he was thinner than Reynald's own form, "But king Ulfric is recovering from a grievous attempt on his life; lame in one eye, this challenge must wait" that was what Reynald wanted, he'd either slay Ulfric by his own hand or open the door for Balgruuf, who previously asked broke from his captors and went to Reynald's sword, he grasped it evenly and took up the blade.

"I take up the dragonborn's challenge. You may have rebuffed me before Ulfric, but you without an eye and me drained from the attentions of my captors make an even watch I think" he levelled the blade at their enemy, in front of all his men and captains, "dare you refuse? Are you a coward as well as a liar" Ulfric exploded, he threw his men from around him and grasped the sword as his bearer produced it, "unshackle him so I can kill him cleanly" he ordered furiously, the men who'd held Balgruuf complied meekly and pulled his cuffs.

There were no last words or sizing up; Ulfric bounced forward near out of his skin and attacked Balgruuf in a wild overhand swing, the blades clashed and sent the former jarl towards his flank with the wrist shattering force behind it. Reynald and everyone else looking to keep a limb gave them space to slash and hack at each other, Ulfric near dissecting one of his men as Balgruuf sidestepped his charge to turn the momentum, his blade flashed across Ulfric's lowered guard and near cost him a head if not for a timely dip, Balgruuf followed up with strokes of sublime skill, endless majesty in the blade as he went on.

Ulfric was strong as a bull but limited by his vision; Balgruuf was quick and skilful but lethargic enough to gave Ulfric the way of the fight, Whiterun's former jarl was stopped in his tracks as Ulfric broke his blade back with a hasty shoulder thrust before he went to impale Balgruuf, who managed to get away from the attack in some awkward mammoth steps.

Reynald was worried and Ulfric was lurking around his prey like an eager daedra, sizing him up as Balgruuf breathed and sagged, the fight had barely began but then Ulfric struck and it came clear than Ulfric could not be resisted, the man was pure power and a great warrior, he surged forward and Balgruuf's defence seemed to resemble nothing more than an amatuer's stiff blocks and awkward parries.

If he was to win then he'd need to get resilience from the depths of somewhere, Ulfric scattered his guard with thick and hard blows –

Like a flash Balgruuf struck; shambling back in one moment as his blade faltered, Ulfric struck at him overhand as he preferred to free him off his head, but like a coiled serpent Balgruuf closed the distance and threw his blade up in a reversed fashion, catching Ulfric's before he disengaged across the kings thigh low, pulling blood from a previously unbroken stone.

Ulfric brought up his guard again quickly, struggling to follow Balgruuf as he attempted to move to his unbroken sight, then he attacked and whipped his blade at Ulfric's to end the contest, the king looked on edge and panicked, steel flashed against bone at such a tempo that Reynald thought they might shattered or smash to pieces.

Ulfric's fist cracked across Balgruuf as he caught him under a high strike, his follow up was clumsy but caused the near beheaded man's own blade to cut into his upper arm, it was blood apiece now, the men circled to catch their breath, Ulfric's leg happened across his already failing side, it was prime choice for when Balgruuf would strike.

The man was coy enough to know that, Ulfric was cunning enough also, they tangled again in a fight to the death at the core of the ring as the massed stormcloak forced watched around in awe and terror, their dream of an independent Skyrim relying on the sword of the Stormcloaks which Ulfric wielded with brutish skill.

It was ironic the battle; the stormcloaks fighting half-blind and enraged while those that remained where left wilted by their ties to the corrupt empire, strong hands of the north wielding swords made for men of Skyrim against her enemies.

Yet for all Ulfric's strength Balgruuf's skill matched him, neither man possessed enough raw stamina or power to vanquish the other, those around had quieted to a whisper as they battled, it looked an impasse.

It couldn't be however; and neither Reynald nor all those assembled could interfere, it took no guile or wit, but nordic hardness to enforce the end of the contest, as it should have done. Ulfric as was his way smashed down Balgruuf's guard; he swung high but found his blade deflected low to his side, an occurrence familiar and forgiving as Balgruuf's own blade lay harmless on the return.

Then the man who was known as being 'a puppet' for the imperials leapt forward blade still out of striking range; his hand grasping the _blade_ of Ulfric's sword and grasping it so firmly that his fingers could have been lost at a sudden jerk, Ulfric in a panic ripped his blade free and blood ruptured from every digit but it was Balgruuf's chance, on came his weapon to tear across Ulfric's mail – a blade as edged and with so much _teeth_ as the Dragonblade could not be refused, his stomach opened as Balgruuf's hand went slack and his fingers drained.

The king could no longer stand; he looked up at Balgruuf with his useless hand and perhaps thought himself proud to lose to such a brave; _reckless_ nord, but Balgruuf gave neither him nor his supporters time.

His blade whirled high before he slung it down across Ulfric's neck, it cleared bone and marrow and opened blood and flesh across Reynald's sword as easily as a heated knife cut through butter, Ulfric shuddered and fell across himself, and the world seemed to stall around them.

No man could believe it; all of them stood and stared in shock, Ulfric Stormcloak lay decapitated before them, at the hands of a _traitor_. Shock turned to anger and suddenly a blade came out from the hand of one of Ulfric's captains Reynald had not seen before, a man he knew only as Sun-Killer.

He rushed Balgruuf in a wordless cry; Reynald came from his stupor in a moment and shouted "_**Wuld!**_" it carried him across the sight of Ulfric's death, his elbow even un-armoured hit the captain so forcefully that he knocked him into the ranks of men, unmoving but alive, "no man interferes with a lawful contest" Reynald warned, his eyes fierce against those murderous of Ulfric's captains, "Jarl Balgruuf is the lawful victor, he slew the high king in fair combat. If any dispute it, let them throw their swords at my feet."

None moved; not Ulfric's captains with the daggers in their eyes or the men surrounding the entire place, no one truly knew what to do, Ulfric was dead and Galmar Stone-Fist who led in his charge could have been as far away as Akavir for being on the opposing Rift front. Even his captains had no ideas save to consider breaking their ancient customs.

Reynald stepped up of course, he called into the ranks for a healer and for respect to be paid to Ulfric body, but he also rounded on the captains present, generals all amongst these men and told them in no uncertain terms the way of things, "You men are all here to fight for jarl Ulfric; who desired peace within these lands. Now he is dead and you are without your leader, and jarls rule these lands as certainly as the emperor rules in Cyrodiil."

Reynald produced the document given by Jarl Elisif and asked for Ulfric's acting steward to come forward, and a short squat man in reasonably pleasant dress came to him, Ords of Springhold, "Can you know this letter to be true; do you know the seal of Dawnstar is not the words of its stewards, can you say these words are to the truth?" he asked, and of course the man could as a steward, having seen messages from every hold and jarl.

"These are words of jarl Skald the younger of Dawnstar – along with the annotations and stamp of jarl Elisif of Solitude" he announced, mainly to the men Reynald directed his attention towards, "It announces that Reynald Manis the dragonborn has been made the jarl of Dawnstar in recognition for his efforts in breaking the vampires siege…and that jarl Elisif supports the new jarl of Dawnstar in his actions, against even the high king himself" _That king is dead, now all she fights against are this lot of scared 'generals'._ The men's faces were deflated, they looked to need more than a few moments to summon anything resembling a plan of action, but this was what Reynald and Balgruuf had planned for, both of them have to act decisively.

Balgruuf however was broken looking, holding what remained of his hand while attempting to fight the slump of his shoulders, not to mention stemming the flow of blood from his hands. Two healers; what the stormcloaks referred to as 'shieldmaidens' came forward and without notice took Balgruuf's injured digits in hand, they were anything but impartial, but Reynald couldn't say the same of what was Ulfric's assembly.

"The death of king Ulfric will be avenged dragonborn…words on a piece of paper won't save you or that traitor. We won't let Skyrim fall into the empires hands again!" Sun-Killer promised, the steely eyed veteran of Ulfric's rift campaign promised, even as he rose with a grasping breath.

Balgruuf on having a poultice applied to his hand, held as the two young cowl worn sisters worked over his hand with whatever abilities they possessed in restoration, spoke up before Reynald could say a word, his voice was clear and strong despite the obvious pain he endured.

"Neither would the dragonborn let it, and nor will I" Balgruuf had agreed to this proposal by Reynald, sat in his sweat and anger, and said it to them as Reynald had said to him. "I believe now that Skyrim can't return to the way of a feeder state for the dying land of Cyrodiil. I have seen how corrupt the Mede dynasty has become. The emperor is dead, slain supposedly by an elder council jostling for power along with many of his family. His sons were untouched but stupid, the entire imperial court is rotten, Skyrim's bounty will no longer be subject to them – if you would but join me in resisting them" Ulfric's captains scoffed at the suggestion, some threatened and others stood in shocked silence, the men around them stirred however, and that was enough for Reynald.

He went to stand beside Balgruuf; both of them looking worn but resilient to their trials, the day had long gone and the ardour of whatever Ulfric had planned vanished from their faces, their eyes were shorn of any gleam. "Listen to me now; believe me when I say I only opposed the high king out of the direst need. Did I not stand with Ulfric against the empire? Did I not liberate the innards of Whiterun so that less of you would fall? I fought to save you against Alduin and the vampire menace alike! Who here can say they have done more to protect Skyrim's people?" he knew none of them would oppose his words, perhaps they'd resent him or bite their tongues but that would be the height of it he thought, only one particular Stone-Fist would have the nerve for it, and he was too far away to be a threat.

"If we don't stick together now then the imperials will march through Falkreath hold and capture the required foothold, then there within reach of Whiterun and Markarth. After that they have only to send a dignitary to Solitude and they'll have returned half of Skyrim to imperial control. I don't think anyone here wants that" Cairn-Breaker and Sun-Killer asked the question on the lips of near all Ulfric's closest, "Why should we have anything to do with you, or you're imperial traitor here? All of us command men in the hundreds; aligned together by bonds of blood, we can resist these imperial bastards and slay them in Ulfric's honour, what can you do about it?"

Cairn-Breaker was right of course, save for the fact that the men around him didn't look like men aligned by blood, or any other notions of great spirit or pride, "So that is what you wish for is it, the last remnant of the great Stormcloak kingdom? With no high king to lead you; you'll charge into the imperial ranks in some bastardisation of great battle. Perhaps to die or vanquish in what will be a great many dead? Why not stand behind myself and Balgruuf the greater as equal men, propose to remove the imperials by their own weaknesses, so that we can all rebuild Skyrim and make this land strong again? Tell me my brothers – are you all so eager for an inglorious death?" Sun-Killer and Cairn-Breaker; with Arrald Frozen-Heart and Red-Shoal were that sort of keen, they told Reynald that firmly.

Yet the men behind them were not as vainglorious as them; the others Reynald knew as Hjornskar Head-Smasher; who he'd fought with at Whiterun, Kai Wet-Pommel and Frorkmar Banner-Torn who both lived in cities Reynald had helped liberate from the vampires and thalmor, where all wary, now that they had assurances of his intentions perhaps.

All of them wrangled between each other as Balgruuf was returned to some sense of ease; his hand useless in a thick white sheen of cloth, those two shield maidens began to fuss over the now pooling corpse of Skyrim's one time high king, the men around were despondent as his body was tended too.

They didn't have time to lament; perhaps only to die, as near every stormcloak within a league stood and wavered, on came the legion. It started with a host of scouts filling into the camp; clambering to despair with the others as they found out the events, before the sound of the legions great bull horns began to sound.

There was no order or composure, from every porter to the high captains everyone hadn't the heart to resist, not truly in a battle to the death against the ranked formations of the veteran ninth, but Balgruuf the greater; owing to his name stood up, clambering upon a nearby hut to preach to the men around him, "All of you listen to me! Is it not the great charge laid against me; that I am in league with the imperials and working against our homeland? Form the ranks known to you; shoulder your armour and grasp your spears! I will go forward and make these imperials leave of their own accord, then we all will have a free Skyrim."

Everyone was eager for that to become truth; save Cairn-Breaker and his sort, to Reynald's disgust they turned their backs, proposed that they should throw their lot in with Galmar Stone-Fist in the rift, but not all the men thought of glory or slaughter, most wanted the idea of peace Reynald and Balgruuf had fashioned.

Some small number of men turned and left as the stormcloak camp rumbled into readiness; perhaps two hundred in a haze of men eager to get beyond the breech and see the imperials finally repelled, "Get us out of this and I'll deliver you to Whiterun myself" Hjornskar Head-Smasher related to Balgruuf, callous given he was Galmar's direct lieutenant in the stormcloak assault, "Ready the men and put on a brave show; and I'll not challenge you for honour's sake, Hjornskar" Balgruuf returned, as whatever remnant of leadership went fourth on horseback in front of the winding foot array.

They broke across a great outlay of thick brush across woodlands; the reason the old stone towers had to be relied upon instead of the usual wooden watchtowers for the stormcloak camp, there was no track across where they would potentially meet, thick woods intersected by a rolling stream that left little room for the formations of the imperial lines.

Reynald surveyed that the imperials could remain on the brink of torrent and soak up any volleys from the stormcloaks heavy archer prescience, the imperials meanwhile held superiority that their shieldwall could hold upon the banks even against skilled assault men like the stormcloaks, either side wouldn't think of flanking around the broken terrain that permitted the borders of where they would engage.

It would be a thick; congested and narrow, you couldn't wager any decisive victories in this sort of engagement, they could thank the divines that Tullius would know this, but Reynald could only wonder what the general was planning.

He led beside Balgruuf who trusted his thu'um it seemed; his own prescience non-withstanding, as he rode straight for the imperial lines as if he was rejoining an old comrade rather than an enemy, Reynald rode astride of him unperturbed, imperials weren't known for slaying any party coming as messengers.

As they came within the stream Reynald recognised the formed ranks of the legions, the heavy infantry of steel and spear that had for so long terrorised battlefields and reduced errant states and cities to obedience, the ninth with its immortalised ruby dragon standard across a field of pearly silver. Inside the ranks and before the secondary line of soldiers and ongoing support infantry, he saw general Tullius upon a white charger with all his massed force complimenting his steely complexion.

He counted eight cohorts in their usual numbered ranks, two less than what was considered a full legion, there were no real content of mages or archers to see, while every legionnaire wore dented and worn armour – had the grim look of greying veterans in the first ranks Reynald could catch a good look of.

Tullius for his part was surprised as the pair; no longer followed by any of those others directed to oversee the stormcloaks themselves, Reynald turned to see a huge swath of cobalt and steel beginning to oppose these imperials, he turned to trot on with Balgruuf.

They stopped short of the river, holding their reins and showing their lack of weapons, Balgruuf called Tullius forward with something resembling unease in his voice, the thousand strong vanguard opposing them with a blazing wall of spears troubled Reynald.

Tullius came on in his splendid general's attire; the golden trimmed, marron leather cuirass and accompanying finery accustomed to the head of a legion, his head struck with now greyed hair but his hazel eyes as alert as ever. On his left hand he held the reins of his horse while upon the other he grasped the pommel of a stark white sword held upon his chargers mount, his eyes squared upon Reynald almost immediately as he approached.

"What are you doing here traitor, what is the meaning of this Balgruuf?" Rikke upon Tullius' left flank asked harshly. Tullius didn't look to correct her; it was hardly easy to explain given Reynald's past affiliation. Balgruuf managed a fairly acceptable job, explaining his attempt to run the Stormcloak scouting parties, being captured and then finally sentenced to death by Ulfric, followed by Reynald's plan to allow him a challenge towards Ulfric himself.

The result was known to them; the end of Ulfric Stormcloak, but it left more questions, Tullius didn't even bother asking the final fate of the former king's body, he only focused on the current appearance of his army. "Why are their ranks formed behind you Balgruuf? You're not thinking of throwing in with the stormcloaks are you?" It was another hard question, but Balgruuf looked confidant, assured of his fate, "Tullius; I have always been repulsed at the idea of the white-gold concordat, but I always stood by the empire, opposed Ulfric and his rebellion. I thought that I would die in the hands of that murderer, but I realise that the dragonborn is not the same man. Yet he too wishes Skyrim free of the empire, and why? Because the corruption of the empire is rampant, you're new emperor is a fool, your government is full of flesh eating – gold stuffing robbers. I cannot in good conscience return our bounty to the empire."

Tullius looked pained to hear the words, a man at a loss to see how his chief aim could be tainted by the words of a man he saw as an ally; perhaps even a friend. Reynald was the direction of his anger, he vented on the dragonborn that looked like the very brigand that Tullius accused him of being "You. You've done this. With that serpents tongue of yours, twisting things to destroy the empire who wronged you" he was literally incensed, a hair away from lifting his hand up to commence the attack, but Reynald interceded his tirade "General calm; before you throw away more lives of your men, and force Balgruuf to waste more nord lives" Reynald held his hands palms up, he kept his tone as easy as possible, everything was upon the edge of a blade.

"I know you hate me; for the lives of your men I've caused to die, for the uprising in High Rock and the affronts to imperial justice. But I'll only remind you that this empire you fight for is no longer the embodiment of what it was built upon; it's no longer the dreams of Tiber Septim – only a poor caricature of that glorious dream. Why should you ask Balgruuf and all those who stand behind him to spend their lives so that the fat lords in the white-gold tower can enjoy their gold and splendour? Should you not ask what you're fighting for? What you're men have died for?"

"Your traitors tongue won't work on me dragonborn" Tullius all but growled, the very visage of a Cyrodillic behemoth, but Reynald persisted stubbornly.

"Listen to me general Tullius, I saved Skyrim – the world because I believed we could not return to Alduin's twisted dreams, of servitude and the banishment of justice! Why then should I prescribe that the men of Skyrim bend the knee while the Thalmor run free, does your heart not bleed everytime you condemn an innocent man to die in pursuit of his gods? Are men not allowed to love what and who they want?"

"There was nothing we could have done! Nothing the emper-

"The emperor is dead Tullius! Slain by one of the elder council" Reynald was sick of it, sick of this man's delusions of a free empire, a fair empire, "You protect a dead monarch; a dead idea, is it worth your life, your men's lives? If you fight now then perhaps you'll conquer, but you'll have to go on and slaughter all those who would be buoyed by their brother's slaughter. Balgruuf just slew their king and yet they stand behind him rather than face another quarter of imperial taxes; another period of thalmor persecution, another one of their sons dragged away to guard a border against the sand lands or the poisoned forests of the bosmeri" Reynald's voice was impassioned even by his own estimation, Balgruuf gave him a look of what could be considered pride, Tullius lost his fire, and the strength in his shoulders went.

"So it seems it comes to this once again, you'll fight to the death to secure your independence Balgruuf, and you dragonborn will do everything you can to unravel the empire" Tullius voice was accusatory but low, the four guards following him were uncertain, Balgruuf was fervent at Reynald's fluency of Skyrim's opposition to the empire, perhaps he saw what truly lay in store for his people if he could but glimpse freedom for them.

"Tullius I do not ask you to turn your army away and never look upon Skyrim; as Ulfric foolishly did, but I will grant you a compromise to avert this newest battle" Reynald had discussed all this in length with Balgruuf, in his tiny damp cell, against the threat of a broad axe clambering across his neck, but now he saw the advent of a new Skyrim. "We will grant amnesty to any families of those displaced by the war of the imperial favour, your soldiers and nobles included. I will lead the movement; with the dragonborns help and Solitude's support – so that the stormcloaks are reduced and a true formation of Skyrim's people can be formed, rather than an army bred for contempt of other races man and mer alike" Tullius did not dispute as Balgruuf weighed it to him firstly, a good sigh given that a nord Reynald noticed as a guard perked at that. "Furthermore Skyrim; under either myself or the dragonborn's – perhaps even jarl Elisif's rule, will recognise imperial authority in the way an allied kingdom would, with tribute of grain and other support as being fair. We will come to your aid in times as when needed, against the thalmor or any other threat that presents."

"And in return?" was the obvious question, Balgruuf was just as simple in his response.

"Skyrim will stand as Ulfric made it to be; I owe that to his propriety at least. Your armies will vacate the south and return to Cyrodiil, nords will be permitted to join the legion in the same fashion as the bretons or orcs, but there will no other authority upon us" If he was unsure or wavering Reynald didn't catch it, Balgruuf rose to be great lord in his eyes then that Ulfric should have been. A kind but firm man; with personal morality governed by equality of races yet the lessening of no religions or people for the basis of another, Tullius seemingly agreed.

The general was jaded and angry, his legions and legates in all behind him looked weary and battered, there was no spirit in their array despite the gleam of their sabres and spears, every shield was rent, every helmet was battered, the sigils and standards blew unsteadily in the winds, they faced down what they saw as a ferocious army of nords unwilling to surrender.

Tullius blinked before Balgruuf, ordering his legates to return themselves to the array, to Balgruuf he finally related his last words, "I thought better of you Balgruuf, I thought that you might want to do more than what Ulfric would have done. But I understand why you're doing this over that traitor, you want to protect your people and I don't have enough strength to stop you." His horse reined up and the general began trotting away, over his shoulder he called to them again "I'll see about what Cyrodiil thinks of this, if they'll accept it. If not – well then we'll meet on the battlefield regardless." Reynald and Balgruuf watched him go, the stormcloaks roared behind as they slunk back into their occupied hold and her outlaying regions, visible at the end of the forest, "We have a lot to do Balgruuf" Reynald motioned for them to return to their own lines, Balgruuf snorted.

"That's putting it easy dragonborn. We still have Whiterun and Vignar Grey-Mane to deal with, not to mention all these stormcloaks" that was an understatement, clear as an argonians skin they realised, the return to the camp had summoned every single nordic soldier within ten leagues of the main encampment.

Balgruuf was at first worried that it would look like a planning of a final onslaught to the imperials before a wild chorus went up through the ranks, not for slaughter or revenge even against himself but rather something more innocent and dramatically pleasing.

The men wanted to go home; all of them in varying degrees of longing, some who would forego their wages for the moment to others who would stay only long enough to see the imperials finally escape through the passes, the captains that were left them were bloated in numbers by all sorts of men who represented parties or warriors and warbands, families of men and guardsmen that had been brought into the ranks.

Hjornskar Head-Smasher spoke for the men who had been the most veteran or fervent in Ulfric's war, though those that had left with the vengeful captains had seen fit to despise Balgruuf and Reynald together, leaving only the men who were loyal enough to Skyrim to resist their fury at the pair.

Frorkmar was a Dawnstar man, 'aligned to Reynald's side by way of homestead and a rather fair liking of the dragonborn' he'd said, thankfully more than a few of the men found him a great captain and easy man to put their swords and axes behind. Kai Wet-Pommel likewise had provided enough valorous service in the rebuffing of an imperial assault on Winterholds outskirts to give him popular appeal, but in all the numbers lost to them in leadership was insurmountable.

Captains of guards sourced from Riften and Markarth came and complained that they wished to go home almost immediately, and Balgruuf was not willing to leave them with the same distaste they seemed to hold for Ulfric under their tight tones. Both sets of men to the number of four hundred were told to pack their belongings and prepare their separate marches tonight, something that opened the floodways for the rest.

Men of large homesteads and farming communities complained that they would miss the harvest; others said that their homes had been raided constantly by bandits and brigands. All wished to leave in the same manner of those begging for leave before them, immediately that night.

"I will deal with your requests when I have worked out how many men we can afford to have retire from the field" Balgruuf had told them, but it was clear that sooner than later they would take the lack of leadership as a boon and go themselves.

This was both a blessing and a curse; as it meant both that Ulfric's array of stormcloaks for the most were disheartened for war, which served them well until the point Tullius decided to march upon them for a battle.

"We must keep enough men to maintain the air of an able fighting force" Reynald had warned throughout the day as they'd taken to Ulfric's original entrenchment, to hear what was being said for the men, past the three captains who were probably sore to have been displaced by two seemed traitors in their true hearts "These men were the most useful there truly however, all three proved their weight in steel by being completely unable to stem the tide of possible desertions, yet were able to report it accurately at least.

"Near four hundred men from Windhelm wish to return home and help repair the damages to their homes" Head-Smasher reported in one instance past the break of day, "More than one hundred ship-hands men from the Pale are planning to march home by noon today" he reported only a little time later. Wet-Pommel proved as slippery as his sword suggested by informing them his men wouldn't leave until their dues were paid, and that would be sooner than the last men leaving in a day's time by his reckoning, Banner-Torn meanwhile could marshal some few hundred others to patrol through the trees and emplace them thickly to supply the idea of strength.

By the time supper had arrived Balgruuf for all his bluster realised things were useless, Reynald some time before. Too many had been broken by the king and truly Reynald was surprised more weren't in fits of tears or throwing themselves upon their own swords, but really it came to nothing more than these men fighting for their _homes,_ it meant they wanted to see them again.

Finally as they heard the cooks and butchers had decided to pack up everything worth having; mainly all the ale and meat, Reynald decided to act for them both, it meant gathering their three loose captains and what remained of a veteran lot of guardsmen.

"Frorkmar I need you to settle this idea of not feeding whatever men decide to stay, bring as many soldiers as you'll need for the job. We need one more night from whatever men are staying, don't take no for an answer" He told the seemingly most responsible of the three first, who took twenty men to settle that account, before he turned to Hjornskar, the most ferocious of the lot.

"Take whatever men that leaves you with and get all the coin and plunder together here, I don't want war chests marching off into the night, no one receives their wages until we sort this mess out" was that instruction, followed by a derisive Windhelm native who thought it was a flash in the pan of their larger problems, Kai Wet-Pommel was perhaps the least useful, if Reynald gauged them on who was willing to see this out.

"I need you to bring me whoever leads the Whiterun guard, quickly and quietly." He felt the wheels of his plan set in motion, even as Ulfric's army disintegrated around him, a flash of slogging bodies outside the thrown open entrance, either throwing their slinging their long staves to handle their packs or packing up tents.

"We'll lose half our arms at this rate not to mention our soldiers" Balgruuf said off against Ulfric's flat lined desk, rooting their through his designs of further stratagems and correspondences, "We better hope Tullius is suitably cowed" No one who knew the man thought he could ever be easily cowed, but Reynald at least had enough dragon shaped deterrents up his sleeve to ward off a full assault, perhaps to a retreat to a denser location if needed.

That however was something removed from his mind as a man entered with Wet-Pommel, sturdy looking with sharp indigo eyes and a round kernel like head. He was perhaps only slightly older than Reynald but wider and with two rickety looking pommels across his thin hips, in the usual garb of a soldier including all the mail and netted quilt, with no colours typical to a stormcloak was present.

"Captain Anshal as ordered dragonborn" Wet-Pommel introduced, a man not known to Balgruuf despite being from the man's own city it seemed, "I have never failed to know a face from the city guard my brother" Balgruuf greeted with warm tones, yet questioning all the same.

Anshal appeared flustered at that, embarrassed even "I was installed ahead of many of the older guard sir…jarl Balgruuf" he replied unevenly, he looked to them far more dangerous than he sounded, though to the boots on the dirt he had nearly one hundred and fifty men from the city of Whiterun.

Reynald didn't ask him about his men's desires or needs, his plan needed to move ahead, and what it was amounted to a simple question of "Will you return Balgruuf to the throne of Whiterun; as is his by the right of familial succession?" it was direct and loaded, Reynald stood opposing him and Balgruuf looking on intently in the corner. It was too much for the man it seemed, too much for him to resist anyways.

"I'll have you instated as a captain in your own right if you prove your trust to me" Balgruuf promised, before Reynald insisted that the man would be ready to leave tonight, "I cannot go with them tonight" Balgruuf had tried to argue but the dragonborn knew that had to be the way of things, time wasted meant more time in where there advantage slipped.

"We need a powerful array to stand against further stormcloak aggression; Galmar Stone-Fist will be dangerous in a pitched battle, but let's see him rally support if he finds half of Ulfric's supporters returning to their homes and you seated in your rightful throne" Reynald argued with insistence bordering on intensity, "No man who isn't a jarl commands forces beyond their own loyalty to his cause, that cause died with Ulfric for most we've seen that. The pale and Solitude will soon be known to declare for your ascension to high king; Markarth is beset by the forsworn and won't go beyond her borders to help anyone regardless of who's the jarl. If you add Whiterun then you have the two most economically powerful holds in Skyrim on your side, while the pale holds the route to the sea, Winterhold if promised a port can be convinced to leave whatever remnant in Windhelm that proves hostile flat."

"So it will end with Whiterun…how strange that I thought I would never see dragonsreach again but only a few hours ago." It was settled, the prospective high king would go try his hand at recapturing his own home, leaving the imperials to the dragonborn.

How many men he would be left with was more than likely a bigger concern, the night fell and on came the rushing of captains of lesser note begging notes of forthcoming payment, guarantees and sworn oaths while Reynald waited on the hammer of the imperials following the anvil of desertion.

More than once he had to shoo men away to deal with the lot of clerks and that sort, where he could find them from the now decimated ranks of Ulfric's orderly staff. He was beginning to thank Talos for the men who'd stayed behind to help them stem the tide, until he heard the hasty blows of that same legion bull horn as before, weaker and less in number yet present all the same.

He'd gotten his sword back from Balgruuf; had Hjornskar find him some reasonable armour in the form of an iron cuirass in good condition that he could throw over his now well soiled travelling garments. It left him looking more like an escaped prisoner than a commander of a thousand's strong army, but he supposed he wouldn't even be in command of a few hundred men if the night kept up.

"Wet-pommel met him with a pair of horses ready for riding, Reynald leapt up beside him as a few men gathered some mounts behind against the backdrop of a tension filled camp, men ran to and fro without concern for their captains, the entire place was a frenzy.

He left orders for _order_ if something resembling that was possible, kicked up his horse and sped away towards the sound of the imperial horns in an attempt to intersect them before the camp. If it was an order of diplomacy for the plans then that was good, if it was an attack then perhaps Reynald and his newest dragon acquaintance could at least rout them through confusion.

It was madness instead; a throng of worn imperial scouts offering him peaceful passage, 'the general needs to speak to you urgently sir' was what they said. So he went across the river with them, past all the pitched spikes and traps worn into thick bush that the scouts were careful to avoid on the way, past sturdy lookout posts and archer dugouts that eyed him curiously as he went.

After what was a long while; and having seen that the imperials were in no great number past the oncoming Falkreath Reynald began to wonder what this meant, rather than worrying about an attack, the guards certainly didn't show any signs of aggression as they lead him in a flurry towards the dusky town at the foot of Skyrim.

It was a quiet place that while thought of as foul; where as he really thought to be serene, a place where solemn men worked and drank while quiet ladies found comfort in their lives. The thickets of barricades and high emplacements coupled with rows upon rows of endless of lily white tents.

Tullius it seemed had commandeered the jarls own court for his business here, a relatively quant little longhouse like those of Winterhold and Dawnstar. There was nothing save legionnaires upon the streets to put him in the mind of a curfew and more than a few gave him a wary glance before turning away. The men sent for him took neither his weapon nor attempted to hamper him as he made his way inside through the thick door blocking him from the general, what he met inside was almost horrendous but surely stupefying.

Legate Rikke was around the table they had planted in the middle of the slightly upraised dais, with a flutter of white robes healers around her looking to pull two arrows lodged inside her breastbone, just under her now mail that was unable to be pulled off like her plate, Tullius was over her in a fury.

The men around scrambled back; most of them low enough in rank to warrant not being able to scramble out of Tullius' way, the guard even announcing Reynald took a weak attempt at coughing such was the ferocity of the aged mans appearance, Tullius turned with blazing eyes.

"All of you save the healers out! Lock the door behind you, if any man wishes to come through it they'll go through you" the men all moved quickly to evacuate while Tullius stared down Reynald, who could only stare back blankly.

After a moment of madness the general sighed, blew out a deep breath over his shadowed eyes and motioned for the dragonborn to follow him, into the small recess usually providing accommodation for the jarl of the place beyond their own sleeping quarters.

"No jarl to bother you Tullius?" Reynald wondered as he noticed the room was entirely devoid of amenities, filled rather with multitudes of war plans and broad maps across its walls and thick legged table at its centre, along with piles of quills upon the ledger mount beside along with the impromptu station of an imperial scribe just beside.

"Jarl Sigmund has been relieved of his quarters until he can become useful to the war effort" he dryly told him, hardly surprising given the man's overall snide appearance, "Jarl's don't matter anymore regardless dragonborn, not Sigmund; not even Balgruuf really. We've got emperors and plotters to worry about now, which is why the legate is in their bleeding over my main command table, and why you're here with me instead of plotting across the river."

"Kindly explain" Reynald said evenly, taking a seat across from the table and waiting impatiently.

Tullius did explain; something so wide and far ranging that he could hardly believe it even as the man's teeth gritted and his voice went as cool as the night's breeze. Words concerning conspiracies in the imperial city between the two princely heirs of the late emperor; violence in the streets of the palace district between two opposing factions of supporters, culminating in a series of brutal _battles_ that cost the lives of the marshal elect, the favoured consort of the emperor and his sister to share, along with a currently unknown number of the high echelons of the elder council.

It wasn't all either; in fact it was but the prelude to something far more distressing news for Tullius at least, the emperor's oldest son Eldra had been driven to the undercity itself in the confusion, presumed dead if not lost.

The palace itself had been near burnt to the ground; the younger brother struck with a poisoned dart, someone had slain three thalmor representatives and the palace guard was said to have been riotous themselves in the free for all, cutting down scores of lesser nobles on the orders of the dead marshal.

"That's…quite a tale Tullius" Reynald said simply, as he couldn't help but understate the weight of the news, "I fail to see how that relates to legate Rikke and her arrow wounds however?" It appeared the general was only warming up.

He then mentioned the Cheydinhal bastards and wondered if Reynald knew of them, a stupid question given that everybody in Nirn rather than the legion had heard of the 'flagged vagrants'. Men of the eastern watch of the imperial city coupled with the ruins of the fifth and sixth legions, thrown in together with whatever refugees from Morrowind and Blackmarsh that could be pulled together.

All of it made a cluster of races and sects into a legionary force that was unlike any other in Cyrodiil, un-trusted and scrupulous under the command of men who had been given control of the lands south of Cyrodiil's only eastern great city in order to providence against the threat of Black Marsh. They had thrived and became powerful lords in their own right, there legions received their pay from these men themselves rather than the treasury of the imperial coffers, which meant loyalty to the men in the backwater of Cyrodiil rather than the heart of the Nibean.

"I'll get right to it dragonborn then; not tricks or threats" Tullius said reminding him of his prescience, Reynald's mind buzzed with the scandal of it all. "In the panic the remnant of the elder council in conjunction with what army precinct that remained decided to act swiftly to regain control of the capital. In their haste they turned to the current legionary 'counsellor' – as they call themselves on the southern banks, Eurthika Teleron." Reynald knew the same, had heard veterans curse it especially if they were dunmeri, a 'coward' if anyone could ever be called that from the days of the great war.

"The mans a viper by what I heard" Reynald answered to what had to have been their first agreement, "He's the worst imperial I've ever met, probably due to him having some of that beast blood in him. The swine had managed to have contact with whatever remained of the elder council, convinced them to install him as the protector of the capital. That was near two months ago; but I only found out when one of his garrisons along the lower Jerall's feathered legate Rikke and her party on return to Bravil."

"What? What is he doing garrisoning the passes, attacking your troops?" Was it pure rebellion? A plot perhaps against Tullius himself, whatever it was the general himself was at pains to say it, the words came out bitter and confused, "He's a power hungry dog that's why. Always looking to get this honour or that, lands or titles or the emperor's favour for one of his new cities or foundations."

"And now without an emperor?" Reynald suggested, Tullius knew what he meant.

"Dragonborn you know as well as I do men covet power. Most if not all in some respects" Tullius told him with Reynald not quite sure if it was a jab, "This Eurthika is a spoiled brat of the worst sorts of Cyrodiilic's, bastard sons of foreign missions with no real loyalty. I can't allow the emperor's sons to fall into the hands of someone who hasn't got the best intentions of the empire at heart, he'll not back them he'll kill them" Tullius was assured of it, Reynald saw it in his eyes as clearly as he had ever saw conviction, but it didn't bring them to why he was here.

"You want me to help you overthrow this…usurper? " he asked quiz idly, Tullius gave him a stout nod and pressed forward to meet them eye to eye, Reynald rose and found that he was slightly elevated on the general, but he didn't feel like he overawed the man, not once not ever. "Will you help me? To restore some sense of order inside the empire before it falls apart. If you want Skyrim independent then fine, I'll not press north of the Jeralls for so long as I'm in command – I'll swear it upon the bones of my ancestors. But I need your abilities to break the deadlock through the passes. I need your dragons to remove these parties"

Reynald could have laughed; could have cried, he could have flatly refused the general just to be spiteful in the face of all his hostility. But he didn't and he couldn't even if he wanted nothing more in Nirn, he had Skyrim's freedom delivered and what seemed like the hostility of the imperials tempered if only for a little while.

It was all he needed to let Balgruuf sort this mess out, let him get his bearings back in High Rock and concentrate a stance across what was coming to be two independent states of imperial held territory.

"I assume you only wish for me to fleck these ambushers off the pathways. Rather than torch them all root and branch?" he enquired feeling himself get back into the mind of business, his real calling.

"I'll need you to move quickly, I've scheduled my legions to march out in the morning. If you upset this setback then I'll be in Bravil by the end of the week, Eurthika won't be expecting that if I deal with his garrison parties, there's no way short of a miracle to displace men in the Jerall's" Tullius was speaking in his generals voice, but Reynald wasn't the usual lowly slodjer in the mud, "Then what do you expect to do, Charge the imperial city against the man sent to protect it? You'll cause a civil war Tullius" he warned.

The general wasn't in a questioning mood, he was in his I may care mood, "If you want this peace dragonborn then you'll do as I ask, then you can go back to patching up Skyrim"

"What of my activities in the west?" Reynald asked to a suddenly severe Tullius, "That will be settled on another time; another day dragonborn. Let's just put out one fire at a time and hope you can get what remains of Ulfric's horde under control."

It wasn't what he expected nor what he was prepared for, in fact as he removed himself with Tullius onto the streets of Falkreath he found himself suddenly overwhelmed at how much the tide had turned. Where Tullius saw an affront Reynald saw an opportunity, the final blow to the mede dynasty that would cause an uproar in the imperial city, whether good or bad was to be seen.

In his experience events could be moulded somewhat to a person's liking if they but played their own part correctly, for Reynald that meant acting the hero for Tullius and his legion, perhaps bridging the gap to allow the veterans the opportunity to remove the scampering eastern legions from the capital, or rather instead and more importantly – allowing himself a foothold through the passes.

Tullius needed him to go now, the passes would be open and whatever draft agreement put forward by him in place by dawn, Reynald resisted the offer of legionary surplus armour and instead took to consuming some of their mead and dry meats, scoffing it all as he removed himself to an open field west of the dour brown city.

There he threw out his voice to incarnate Durnehviir, a dread inspiring sight for someone who hadn't caught sight of it before. The purple miasma that morphed into the great fleshy dragon made Tullius and those twenty or so of his guards recoil back in shock, but Durnehviirwas elated once again to be of Nirn again.

"_Saraan uth Dovakiin._ I hope this _Revla_ of mine will involve your mortal combat" the malevolent at its soul beast inquired, as ghoulish as Reynald had ever met in his travels spare but a few. Tullius looked disgusted but Reynald cared not a little at that, clambering on the pussing skin of Durnehviir and commanding him towards the southern approach to Skyrim.

"Fly high and fast my friend. Search out any signs of those like me, they will be but few in those frosted parts" he commanded, to the great delight and speed of his only comrade.

If he thought he knew speed before he was mistaken as Durnehviir flew so mightily that he thought he might lose his grip, hands tightening on the creatures natural armor as he rose higher and higher until only the mountains of the Jerall's were anything but shapeless specs to his sight.

They continued south until Reynald had to cast a slight heat upon himself just to stop his fingers from frosting over or his eyes becoming useless, every white sheet of mountain appeared all the same as they searched for their prey.

It wasn't a task that left Reynald numb and crusted over however; they had not gone that far when Durnehviir snorted and roared, throwing himself off course to barrel towards a crag of rock somewhere towards where he imagined the passway would remain.

"_Kri Lok Dovakiin. _Our prey awaits" was the only notice he was given before they swooped towards the impassable peaks, through the wind and snow unto a relatively flat plateau that any military commander would give their first born for.

"Do not kill them in great number Durnehviir! Only make them flee!" he shouted as the wind blew out his ears, perhaps to no avail. But whether he would relent his lust for slaying was a matter well before his task of not being sheared apart as he was given a chance to rush off into the midst of whatever camp had been erected.

He was only dropped perhaps a few sten yet it was a reaching body blow to have him so hastily dropped; like a deadweight he lay in the thick snow as anyone who was aware of themselves lost themselves to fear at the sight of a dragon.

Durnehviir was _enormous_ even for a dragon; legendary and ancient beyond comprehension, even to those who had been somewhat 'experienced' with dragons would turn tail on him, these soldiers were terrified out of their armor.

Camps were torched and burnt even in the frost inducing weather, fireballs and mistmen all fell upon them from the ghastly dragons fearsome maw, and all the while Reynald in a rush of dragonbone threw upon them so fiercely with his sword that they could not tell if it was one hundred or just one man.

It took less than a watch to rout the camp; bodies lain half charred and frozen but few dead from Reynald's own sword, a bitter taste that allowed him the knowledge that he'd slew men due to the actions of another pompous fool who imagined himself the highest authority in the land.

As he sat within the empty camp, watched overhead by a roaring and lusting dragon Reynald knew he had secured his passage to Cyrodiil, on the backs of the ninth legion that he had helped envelop and destroy for the most.

Dynastic terrors in the south; revolutions of a king in the north, it meant all potential good for a revitalization towards the kingdoms of men if he could work his way into the thoughts of sympathizers that remained for a great empire and realm.

It wouldn't be easy however; it wouldn't be bloodless, and as he sat there Reynald thought that the worst thing for today was those words of Tullius in his diatribe earlier in this longest of days.

_Three thalmor slain_…an invitation to war for the dominion, a war that the empire could not fight perhaps, if men were not there to meet them, the great war had brought all the assembled might of Alinor towards the very gates of the imperial palace and beyond.

Reynald would be ninth damned if he even let them burn one patch of ground in the golden heights.


End file.
